


I Come Alive

by jovialien



Series: MagicVerse [9]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-05-29 12:47:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6375328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jovialien/pseuds/jovialien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A crisis (mostly) averted, it's all just a matter of fixing the fallout with the collective and finding the right kind of supernatural restraining order, so everything should be back to normal soon, right?</p><p>Frank should <i>really</i> know better by now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SylphOfPaperPlanes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylphOfPaperPlanes/gifts).



> Huge thanks to SylphOfPaperPlanes for her yankpicking, encouragement, and general cheerleading on this part, it was a tough write but she helped drag me through!

Ray finds himself almost drifting off as the sky through the small skylight finally starts to show something other than the dim flicker of his candle refracting through raindrops. The candle itself is almost gone, rivers of wax spilling over the edges and stalagmiting down from the rim of the holder before freezing in place about an inch from the floor.

The thundering of the rain stops so suddenly Ray thinks he's gone deaf for a second before the sounds of three sets of almost snores make it through the wall of silence in the room. Gerard is sleeping at last, his bound wrists not letting him get too close to Mikey on the other camp bed but Mikey has stretched out anyway, fingertips lightly brushing as they both breathe deep, finally resting. The third set of breaths comes from much closer, Ray's shoulder to be precise, which Tori has co-opted into a makeshift pillow to complete her bean bag nest.

Their parents had gotten back an hour or so ago, soaked to the skin and weary, but still determined to set eyes on their children before doing anything else. He can hear the faintest murmur of their voices drifting up through the open hatch, both Bryars too, although he's not too sure when Bob's mom arrived.

The house is still, peaceful, and it almost feels like the world is taking a deep breath around him, and Ray finds himself absentmindedly playing with the wax around his candle, letting his fingertips press into the setting liquid, sticking to his skin. It's the sound of the old springs of the camp bed creaking that finally snaps him out of it, twisting in place to see Mikey start to stir slowly before freezing in place with a soft curse.

“You okay, Mikey?” Ray whispers and Mikey relaxes again before rubbing at his eyes and taking in the sight of Gerard bound to the other bed.

“Yeah, just kinda hoped it was all a bad dream, y'know?” Rubbing his face, Mikey screws up his eyes as he pulls something blue and sticky off of his forehead. “What the...?”

“Cooling strips. Tori.”

“Huh.” Reaching to the back of his neck, Mikey pulls off another and lets them drop to the floor before picking up his water and pills again. “How long have I been out?”

“About five hours.”

“Fucking A,” Mikey whispers back, counting out another dose carefully. “Any good visions?”

Ray shakes his head as Mikey finishes off the bottle of water along with his pills. “Nothing, not even a flicker and I've been at it for ages.”

“Probably still need to sort out your shit from the casting,” Mikey says sagely before fumbling the bottle and spilling tablets over the bed. “Aw, shit.”

“Smoooooth, Way.” Ray's silent chuckles are still more than enough to awaken Tori, her head bouncing on on his shoulder before she pushes away with a grumpy wince.

“Stay still.”

“Go to bed.”

“You first.”

Mikey chuckles as he chases the last of the dropped tablets back into the bottle, the greyness fading from his face as he moves around, the earlier dose and sleep helping a little. “And this is why I'm glad my mum and dad stopped at two...” he mutters to himself as he watches the siblings squabble.

“Mikey!” Tori shifts on the bean bags, clambering over them to lean against the foot of his bed. “Do you want some more water?”

“Tori,” Ray sighs, “hydration is not the answer to everything.”

“Yeah, but it never hurts, mom says-”

Ray doesn't hear any more as he shivers violently, just for a couple of seconds, and catches Mikey doing the same thing. Closing his eyes, Ray rubs them tiredly, then stops as something snaps through him, loud and certain, as though suddenly remembering a forgotten appointment or an old song that has been bugging him for days.

Bolting upright, Ray looks at Mikey and can read the words Mikey is mouthing to himself, over and over, eyes screwed shut and fist clenching against the covers of his bed.

Run.

Jumping to his feet, Ray yells as loud as he can for his dad, even as he struggles forward to release the cuffs around Gerard. There's little time to explain, even less time to act, but he has to. They have to go.

Now.

Because they've _found_ him.

********************************************

Bob doesn't sleep for long, too restless to stay asleep once he starts to wake, everything flooding back too quickly and making him twitch beneath the covers. His hand hurts, a throbbing heat that makes his skin feel too tight, but it's not as bad as it was and he manages to slide out of the bed without too much difficulty. It's still dark outside, just the faintest hint of blue on the horizon teasing at the dawn to come, but the clouds are starting to ease a little now, the moon trying to peer through the tiny gaps whilst it still can.

Shuffling through to the bathroom, Bob listens to the sound of voices, but the pattern is wrong for conversation, the sound too tinny and far away. The TV. Ignoring it, he concentrates on the difficult task of peeing one (wrong) handed, with his eyes half glued shut, and his good hand trembling slightly with fatigue and the fading adrenaline in his system. Finally done, his hand mostly clean and dry again, he pads downstairs, his shoes gone even though he can't remember when he kicked them off, but not caring as the thin rental house carpet scratches through his socks.

The light from the TV is flickering over the walls at the foot of the stairs, blue and white light casting odd shadows as he creeps down, before peering round the corner to see the screen playing some old movie with very clean cut actors dancing around in bright colours and fancy clothes.

“So, you really live the stereotype huh, Iero? A real fan of musicals.”

Frank peers over the back of the couch and grins, his teeth bright in the dim light as he sticks his tongue out. “Was either this or infomercials, and I already got enough amazing household appliances, cheers. 'Sides, it's fun.”

“Fun.” Bob drops onto the couch beside him, pushing Frank's feet onto the floor and trying to ignore the fact that he still had his shoes on. “Bunch of guys prancing ‘round singing about- What the heck are they singing about?”

Frank shrugs, reaching out for a can of soda on the table and almost knocking over an open bag of chips as he goes. The sudden waft of smell from them makes Bob's stomach growl and he grabs them without even thinking and starts to practically inhale the bag. “I dunno, something about how good life is I guess. I just like playing spot the closet gay in the dance troupe.”

“Just one?”

Rolling his eyes, Frank slides up to his feet and, shuffling to adjust his sneakers, heads towards the kitchen, hopefully in search of some more food, Bob's stomach decides. The film is quiet, the volume down low, and it's almost impossible to make out the words the ridiculously square jawed man is singing, but the sappy looking woman beside him looks impressed enough. Bob snorts to himself as he watches, trying to picture any of the modern action heroes singing and prancing around like that to get the girl.

Robert Downey Jr, maybe, he has the moves, or Bruce Willis, but never Arnie or Daniel Craig.

Bob almost growls when the bag of chips is whisked from his hands, but restrains himself when a cereal box takes their place. At least the cereal makes some pretence of nutritional value and may make some sort of impact against the gurgling coming from his stomach.

“You got any proper food back there?”

“Everyone's a critic,” Frank mutters back, but a jar of peanut butter thuds onto the couch next to Bob, and the sound of an apple crunching filters through over the TV, the music dying down for another dialogue scene that seems to consist mostly of dramatic exclamations and breathy gasps. And a horse, although, even with the sound down low Bob is pretty sure he's just imagining the horse actually talking too. It's quiet enough that he hears the stairs creak and looks around guiltily, tucking the cereal box down on the floor just as Mrs. Iero appears on the bottom step, a robe wrapped around her tightly but her hair a fluffy tangle on one side.

“Mom,” Frank says quickly, hands behind his back and a grin on his face that isn't fooling anyone. “Sorry, did we wake you?”

“No, I couldn't sleep, I...” Bob can't help noticing the way her eyes keep drifting over to the large bay window at the front of the living room, the drapes still open despite the late hour and their own reflections staring back in the ghostly glow of the TV. “I keep hearing things...”

“Probably the bad movie,” Bob says, throwing Frank a quick grin as he comes back over, leaning over the back of the couch to drop a couple of bananas onto the seat.

“Hey, just because you have no appreciation for the classics-”

“Just because something is old doesn't mean it's classic.”

“Yeah, that's what I keep trying to tell you about your van.”

“Fuck you, man, you leave her out of it,” Bob says before reaching up above his head to try and grab Frank into a headlock. Bob only manages to grab an arm before a dull ache reminds him of his bad hand and he’s forced to let go again.

“I think...” Bob looks up again, the tone of her voice making him frown as Linda drifts closer to the front door and peers through the glass panels in the door. “Frankie, I think... I think there's someone outside. I thought I heard something.”

“It's probably just Ray or someone coming to check in, I'll go see,” Bob says, heading towards the front door even as Linda retreats back to the bottom step of the stairs.

“It's probably nothing, I'm probably just feeling a bit paranoid still.”

“Mom, it's not paranoia,” Frank begins with a grin as he leans against the back of the sofa, scuffing his shoes against the rug. “No if they really are out to get-”

That he never gets the chance to finish the sentence is maybe ironic, maybe sod’s law, but Bob doesn't really care. As far as he's concerned it's just proof that the universe has a sick sense of humour, and you don't need to howl at the moon every month to still be cursed…

********************************************************

It's the sound of the glass breaking that makes Frank move. It's sharp, the tinkling shatter making him duck instinctively, throwing himself away from the big living room window and back towards the kitchen as the glass shatters explosively, but his eyes track his mom instead of the danger.

She gasps at the sudden jolt as she’s thrown backwards, Bob's firm _shove_ pushing her back away from the door and further up into the narrow stairway, almost tossing her up the steps in his haste, but then his hand is back, pushing outwards and keeping the suddenly imploding glass outside of the house. Most of it anyway. Icicle shards of the window are still falling into the room, turning into a blanket separating Frank from his mom, even as thick black boots start to crunch down onto it.

They look up once they have climbed in, three men, hooded in their thick raincoats, the tallest regarding the room with open disgust before his eyes lock on Frank's.

“That one.”

“No!”

His mother's scream is too loud, too harsh, too much for Frank to take and he wants to go to her, wants to be sure she is safe, to protect her from this but he knows, he knows that isn't what he does. He knows what he has to do.

Taking a quick glance down at his sneakers to make sure they are still fastened, Frank straightens up and with a grin flips the intruders the bird.

“Alpha. Mike. Foxtrot!”

Turning on his heel, Frank skids into the kitchen, grabbing the back door handle and yanking it hard enough that the door slams into the wall, but by the time it does he's already gone. The backyard is almost pitch black, the thin light of the breaking sun on the horizon not quite reaching here yet, but it doesn't matter. All the time he’s spent sneaking out into the cemetery stands him in good stead as Frank heads straight for the thin gap in the hedgerow. It's tight, always is, but with a wriggle he is through just as a far more solid body impacts into the branches behind him with a shouted oath.

He can do this. Taking as deep a breath as he can, and hoping to God his lungs can hold out long enough, Frank starts to run. The light cast by the breaking dawn is thin, spring's power still muffled by winter's grasp, but the long shadows it spreads across the cemetery are a godsend to Frank. He knows this place, has spent too many lonely hours here at first, but it's even more welcoming to him now, the gentle glow of the resident spirits lighting a path for him that no one else can see. It's creepy, the way their almost faces turn to him with concern, but they start to follow him, surround him, and it's oddly soothing.

His lungs aren't burning as much as they should be by now, the cigarette cough still just a faint stir at the end of his exhales rather than a full on rattle, and he finally gets it. They're not just guiding him, they're helping him, offering him a little of their energy to top up his own, keeping him going and increasing his lead whilst they can. His thanks is as equally silent as their support, but he knows they hear it all the same, even as his feet finally reach the gravel drive marking the end of the cemetery and the start of the small chapel grounds.

It's still there.

Frank's sigh of relief at the sight is enough to overcome the lingering support and trigger a coughing fit that rattles through him, the slight burn of his limbs warming him against the night air as he grabs the rusty old bike resting against the chapel wall. Okay, so he's probably going to Hell for stealing the gardener's bike, but what with the homosexuality and Witchcraft, Frank figures that handcart has probably long sailed. Or rolled. Whatever it is handcarts do.

Bikes, on the other hand, pedal, and as his feet slip onto the pedals and his weight is taken by the saddle, Frank nods to himself. Time to do his best E.T. re-enactment and get the Hell out of here...

As he rides though, for all that his worry about his Mom and Bob is huge in his mind, his thoughts are focused on a very different person, and for a very different reason.

* _Mikey, come on you ugly fucker, wake up..._ *

 

***********************************************************

Gerard has had what has to be known as the shittiest day in the history of shit days, really, even the parts he hasn't exactly been conscious for. Actually, especially the parts he wasn't conscious for. This, on the other hand, ranks around his top five shittest wake up calls ever, narrowly beating the hangover after his eighteenth, the time Mikey had a nightmare and kneed him in the fucking balls, and the whole waking up to find his current boyfriend being molested by his dead ex to the number 2 slot.

The number one slot is the one he never talks about, and definitely never thinks about, nope.

This, though, being woken up to shouts and chaos, bound to a camp bed, and finding out in a frankly abrupt two sentence summary that the guy he loves is in danger and _there is not a fucking thing he can do about it_ , seriously, what kind of defender is he, locked up here, when he should be out there actually doing what he was born for...

It's definitely number 2. Less painful than some of the other wake up calls, but at least for most of those he had been able to do something about it.

Gerard nods as the cuffs around his ankles release, Ray's hands shaking a little as he fumbles the key, before his dad appears and, with a wave of his hand, removes the cuffs holding his wrists to the bed.

“Thanks.”

“Thank me by not getting my son hurt,” Mr. Toro shoots back before almost hauling Gerard to his feet and pushing him towards the attic hatch. “Michael, come on, you too, get moving, now.”

Looking over his shoulder, Gerard catches sight of Mikey staggering to his feet like a newborn deer, Tori grabbing him and helping him get his balance even as Ray frantically gets his shoes back on, swearing under his breath the whole time.

“Gerard, come on.” The shout draws him back to the hatch, the woman hovering in the space demanding his attention with a tone honed by years of raising children. “We've got him, keep moving.”

His body obeys even as his mind rebels, the slow curl of Bert's growing interest in the situation somehow tangible now, the sleepy fading of his own attention inviting him in like a daydream. Concentrating as hard as he can on his own thoughts, Gerard hastily clambers down the ladder, slipping on the last couple of rungs but then strong hands are catching him and helping him down. Mr Bryar's calloused hands catch against his clothes like sandpaper and help focus him back in the physical, the here and now, even as a slight squeal heralds Tori's rapid descent down to join him.

“Tori, get dressed, fast as you can! Boys, downstairs, now, your bags are by the door, Bob's on the way to the garage and he'll pick you up, be ready!”

“But-”

“Tori, don't argue for once,” Ray calls as he drops from the hatch, barely bothering with the ladder at all, and shoves her down the corridor away from the rapidly crowding space. “Go.”

“Wait!” Jumping into his arms, she gives him a tight hug, just for a second, then nods and runs off without another word. Ray watches her go with a pained look on his face, a moment of weakness and indecision clouding his features before his attention returns to the hatch as Mikey gingerly climbs down too.

Gerard doesn't get a chance to watch his brother's descent, pushed and prodded and herded down the stairs by Mr. Bryar and a bag thrust into his arms as soon as he is level again. It takes him far longer than it should for him to recognise it as his, the go bag he packed weeks ago almost as a joke really and this is it, this is real, they are really running away, now, with Bert as co-pilot in his brain, and with his parents probably freaking out as it is, and his nonna-

Then there's no time to think, no time to feel anything, as Mikey and Ray practically land beside him, grabbing their own bags. They're being all but thrown cash and food by the fast moving parents trying to rally them on, even as Tori re-emerges, a shirt and jeans on and her own pathetically small bag hooked over her shoulder. Her tight lipped stare cuts right through him and for a second he doesn't see her at all but a younger Mikey, his worry and fear similarly caught behind prescription glasses and bravado.

Before he can say anything hands are pushing him out the door and onto the driveway, the Toro family minivan almost filling his sight before he steps around it and hears another vehicle coming up the small road way too fast. Bob's van is there, and Ray is running as the back doors fly open by themselves, Bob jumping out even as Ray slips into the driver's seat and Mikey heads for the passenger door. There's just a couple of seconds for Bob to say his goodbyes to his parents before returning, all but shoving Gerard into the back of the van and slamming the doors closed behind them.

“Wait, you're not driving?” Gerard says even as Ray puts his foot down and gets them out of there.

“Ray's better at following Mikey's directions,” Bob mutters, even as he pushes Gerard into the corner and holds out a hand, the long skein of ribbon floating from Mikey's pocket and into the back of the van with them. It's more crowded than Gerard remembers, bags rolling from side to side as Ray steers, although that could be the slightly menacing sight of Bob bearing down on him with the ribbon and his pocket knife...

At that moment though, Ray takes the corner too fast and the movement takes them by surprise. Gerard can feel the dull thud through his head as he slams into the wall of the van, his skull impacting the metal not really hard enough to knock him out but distracting him, consciousness fading away as someone else takes advantage of the lapse in attention...

**********************************************************

Frank hurts, his legs heavy with ache, and his lungs a constant white fire of pain and feeling like each breath is made of powder, making it harder to breathe as it fills his chest. He can't see William, can't hear his voice, but he knows he's there, watching over him and doing his best to lend support; Frank's lungs burn but even he can admit, he's kept going far beyond what he should have been able to do, it has to be his Guide's doing. It's great, really, fantastic, but what he wouldn't give to hear a familiar voice right now, anything to drown out the wheeze of his own breaths.

He can hear _them_ though, a car behind him, following his bike. They've come close to nudging him off it more than once, bumper to mud guard, and if that isn't terrifying Frank doesn't know what is. They keep catching up, no matter how often he switches to smaller and smaller lanes, shortcuts and tracks, anywhere they can't follow him directly, all the while trying his best to keep showing Mikey what he is seeing, where he is, even when he has no idea himself.

Then the dirt track runs out, a tall gate blocking his way, and Frank curses loudly before jumping from the bike and grabbing onto the wood, a splinter spiking pain through his palm as he drags himself up but he doesn't dare let go, not now. Scrambling over the top hurts, but not as much as the drop the other side, the thump of it echoing up through his bones in a wave of pressure that makes the top of his spine ache too. Still, he runs, as best he can in the storm soaked ground, mud squelching and sucking at his shoes and trying to entrap him as surely as the men behind him.

The sound of car doors slamming is way too loud, even over his harsh breath and pounding heart, and Frank finds his gaze locked on a scarecrow with, of all things, a Stonewall T-shirt on it that has been scribbled on to alter it to say “some people are _hay_ , get over it.” Laughing in spite of the situation, Frank shakes his head, sending the image to Mikey and fighting through the pain threatening to overwhelm him to just keep running.

***********************************************************

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!” Ray's swearing is a constant narration to the drive, the van bumping jerkily over the narrow lane and threatening to bust a wheel - or a skull - at any moment. Mikey is jammed into the passenger seat, fingers clenched tight around his seatbelt and his eyes closed, but it isn't the road that is distracting him. Bob on the other hand, has his hands full, quite literally.

“Y'know, if you want to die a hideous death, can I just say from personal experience I can't really recommend a car wreck,” Gerard – no, Bob thinks, Bert – calls from the back of the van. “So if you could try not to fucking kill me in one, AGAIN, that'd be fucking peachy!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bob yells back, forced to _push_ against the van wall to stay upright whilst he tries to find something, anything, to gag Bert with.

“Oh make me big boy,” Bert chuckles, rolling over with the motion of the vehicle and not giving a damn, his now bound wrists held up above his head like a kid rolling down a hillside. “This is the most fun I've had in years, death is such a drag.” Giggling again, he comes to a stop, wedged up against the heap of bags and gear along one side, straining to break free of the makeshift loops of rope and handles tying them together. “Hey, Ray, you still drag up for Halloween man? Remember that year I was a bellydancer and you threatened to break my crystal balls?”

“Shit, shit, shit...”

“God you guys are boring old fuckers now. Come on, live a little, you only live once. Or, y'know, twice if you can find a good skullmate!” Chuckling loudly, Bert lets a particularly savage bump in the road throw him across the van and up against Bob's legs. “Come on, laugh, you always used to laugh at my jokes, Bryar.”

“I remember you being funnier than this,” Bob snaps, grabbing hold of the head restraint of Mikey's seat to avoid being slammed into the opposite wall.

“Hey, fuck you man, I'm hysterical.” Lifting his feet up like a inverted turtle, Bert wiggles them in the air, watching Gerard's feet flop back and forth. “What's the big rush for anyway, we escaped the wicked witch of the Ways, woohoo.”

“Yeah, and if we thought handing you over to the Collective or to the motherfucking WitchFinders would get you the fuck out of there we would, but it can only make things so much more hideous, and Frank's been playing tag with a whole group of 'em so we're not out of the woods yet.”

“Frank?” Bert pauses, dropping his feet back to the floor and stays still for once, looking up at Bob with a serious expression. “That little prick?”

“Yeah, and if we don't get him before they do, we're gonna be in a whole heap of trouble so would you just, just stop it for one minute!”

Bert seems to shrink down into himself, holding himself still as though lost in thought, even as the van rocks him back and forth. Ignoring him, Bob drags himself back up to lean over Mikey's shoulder, ignoring the constant stream of swearing from Ray.

“Mikey?”

“Wheeler's farm, he's out near the big empty field where they wanna put those new houses, the one with the scarecrow Nick put up, he's- They're all on foot now.”

“He dumped the bike?”

“Couldn't keep it, they had a car, this is more even.”

“Ray?”

“Heading for Wheeler's Farm, least I think I am,” Ray mutters, trying to pull out of a slight skid and get them back onto the road. “Where's the fucking roads?”

“We should reach asphalt again at the top of the hill, you're doing great,” Bob says quickly, patting Ray on the shoulder before grabbing for the seat again for support. “Mikey, tell him we're on the way, we can't stop for long, I reckon we just, I don't know, grab him and gun it I guess.”

“Some rescue plan,” Bert sniggers, “you’re hardly the cavalry.”

“You got a better fucking idea, I'm ready to hear it!”

“Untie me.”

Bob rolls his eyes and looks round. “You've gotta be kidding me.”

“No, wait, Bob, _Bob_.” The tone has changed completely, deadly serious but without the calm threat that was there before, it's softer, it's more-

“Gee?”

“Bob, he's right, I- We, can help. I think...” Gerard's face crumples, confused and afraid, but when he looks up it's definitely _his_ eyes seeing Bob. “We can save Frank. Please.”

“We can't trust him. _You_ can't control him!”

“I know, I know, if we mess up, tie me up again, knock me out, anything, but please, let us help Frank first, it's-” A small smile crosses Gerard's face. “It's the first thing we agree on.”

“He hates Frank,” Bob points out.

“Yeah, but Frank is part of what is tethering him here now, and one thing Bert loves more than anything else, even hating Frank or whatever he once felt for me, is himself.”

That is one thing Bob isn't inclined to argue with, as much as it pains him to hear Gerard finally admit it, but then Gerard's expression shifts and his whole body relaxes, going fluid and languid again. Bert's back.

“So, Bobby, we gonna carry on with the BDSM for beginners thing or you wanna have a little fun?”


	2. Chapter 2

WitchFinders. Actual, for real, same motherfuckers who messed with his mom and have tried to fucking kidnap him exactly two times too many already, WitchFinders.

Frank can't breathe, can't see straight, and yet at the same time is feeling everything the clearest he ever has, and is moving on instinct and just running flat out. He can hear the shouts behind him, can feel the guys up ahead, Mikey's voice calling him on and guiding him without thought towards the moving van coming for him, but oh, God, what if they catch him first, what if-

What if they find his mom, what if they didn't manage to get her out, what if he didn't distract them for long enough, what if they got Gee-

A image shoots through his head, Gerard, tied up whilst Bob sits beside him in the back of the old van, half holding him in place and half restraining him. His mom, pale faced but resolute in the passenger seat of his dad's car, heading out of town.

He can't be sure as he runs if the images are genuine, if Mikey has sent them, or if it's just wishful thinking but right now he doesn't care, he has to believe. He has to keep running because he is all that is keeping these bastards from his home, from his town, from every Witch hiding within its boundaries. He is what they want, have wanted since before he was born, and it's his fault they are here now.

For a second the temptation to just drop to the ground, to let them take him, let them have him and William is so strong, the risk worth it if it will just keep everyone else safe. He can feel Mikey though, close, so close now, and can _see_ himself through their eyes as they run parallel to the field, tracking his path through it, if he goes down they will see him and they won't stop, they will fight for him.

The thought gives him the strength he needs for one final burst of effort, his sneakers almost catching on the slick mud and remains of long since rotted crops, but he keeps going, keeps heading for the gate. The shouts behind him are so close, too close, but the van is slowing, the doors opening, and Bob is there reaching for him and he's going to make it-

The grip on his arm is tight and sudden and his feet go out from under him as he loses his balance, slipping to his knees in the mud, the muscles around his right knee shrieking their own taut scream into the chaos. Frank can hear the others calling him and tries to wave at them to go, to save themselves, but then a single voice cuts through the air, softly spoken but somehow louder than everything else at the same time.

“Get. Your hands. Off him.”

Looking up through his hair, his arm twisted up above his shoulder painfully, Frank can barely breathe as he takes in the sight of Gerard standing in doorway of the van. His hands are tied but even as Frank watches the ribbons slither free of his wrists, only the twitching of Bob's fingers giving away the fact that it isn't actually Gerard himself doing that. Because, right now, even knowing Gerard as he does, Frank could believe him capable of anything because he looks fucking _terrifying_ , like an avenging angel from an old comic book or a supervillain at the moment of creation.

The douchebag holding Frank just laughs, twisting his arm more and forcing him almost face down into the stinking mud and ow, fuck that hurts, but Gerard doesn't move, doesn't flinch at all even as more of the assholes start to approach, slowing as they take in the sight before them. Four young men in a van, another on his knees, totally outclassed and looking like they've been to Hell and back, and it's barely even daylight yet. As much as he loves his friends, they don't exactly look intimidating; Ray is just looking out a window, Bob is crouched on the floor of the van and as for Mikey, he's peering over a seat back and looks like he's about to pass out. Yeah, no real threat.

Well, except for Gerard that is.

Frank's seen Gerard practice, seen him push himself and his powers, felt the crackle of his shields and the sheer energy within and it's awesome and fun and yeah, sometimes a little scary. This however, this is something else, and it suddenly strikes Frank that Gee has always been holding back, has always been so careful with his strength, always making sure he doesn't hurt anyone, always keeping part of himself reined in.

This time though, there is nothing holding him back, a mixture of insanity and protectiveness combining in a stare that holds sheer fire in it and Frank can feel the hairs on the back of his hands starting to rise with the crackle of electricity in the air. Frank can't help it, he flinches and the guy holding him twists his arm harder in return, almost without meaning to, Frank cries out in pain.

Looking back, Frank will later pinpoint that as the exact moment everything goes to Hell.

He's heard all the cliches about how in a crisis everything happens so fast, or in slow motion, but he's never realised before that actually it's a combination of the two. Mikey's shout in his head, telling him to get down is fast, whilst he can feel with slow precision the moment Bob's _twist_ jerks the guy holding him away. Dropping flat in the mud, Frank can actually feel the fiery and familiar pinprick of Gerard's shields swiftly passing over his body, almost pressing him down into the mud, but then everything happens in a blur, confused and just snatches.

The scream of the WitchFinders being flung back by a barrier of sheer energy.

The thud of a body impacting something hard and unyielding.

The shouting of Mikey in his head, commanding him to move, to crawl forward, which he tries to obey, he really does, but the mud is thick and clinging to him, pulling him down.

The feel of Bob _pulling_ at him, forcing him up until he can get his feet under him again and half run, half slide his way towards the van, his knee screaming at him with every step, his shoulder burning with pain.

The look of sheer twisted delight on Gerard's face as his outstretched hand twists in the air, as though beckoning something to him-

Time flicks back into its normal flow with a jolt, Frank stumbling to drop onto the floor of the van even as Gerard shows no signs of stopping, Bob yelling at him.

“Gee - _Bert_ , he's in, come on, let's go!”

The scream from one of the WitchFinders, the one who grabbed Frank, breaks through the thundering of Frank's heartbeat in his head and makes his stomach drop, time slowing to thick syrupy drops as he stares in horror. He can feel it, feel Gerard and something else, someONE else, that must be Bert, through the Coven link.  He can also feel the WitchFinder's life force, his energy, being _pulled_ from his body, all that he is starting to drain out in a sick perversion of Gerard's powers, taking life instead of giving it.

“Gee, stop it!” Struggling to his feet again, ignoring the way his knee trembles and his breath comes in far too fast, too shallow, pants that send stars into his vision, Frank flings himself back out of the van to tug on Gerard's arm, trying to pull him back and away from them, away from it all. “Stop it, let him go, this isn't- This isn't you, stop it!” The smirk on Gerard's face is all too familiar and Frank snarls around his own wheezing voice. “Bert, stop this. Now.”

“Or what?”

Rolling his eyes, Frank stops pulling on his arm and looks at the guy dropping to the ground in the field. He looks like shit, like he doesn't have long left, and Frank'll be damned before he lets Bert put a death on Gerard's conscience.

“This.” Jumping up from the mud to wrap his arms around Gerard's neck, ignoring the sharp spike of pain the move sends through him, Frank kisses him fiercely. He can feel the shock running through Gerard's body, the surprised jolt and almost instinctive, and extremely familiar, grip holding him back and grins. Connection broken, Frank slips down again and physically shoves a confused Gerard back towards the van, Bob grabbing him and tossing him into the back before getting hold of Frank too as Ray starts to drive.

The doors slam around crazily behind them for a couple of minutes as they just get some distance from the field before Bob reaches out a hand and closes them without a touch, muffling the sound of the road outside and leaving them in peace at last.

They made it.

The question is, what now?

******************************

There is nothing but the sound of the engine and Frank's harsh breathing as he fights to get it back under control, Mikey slipping into the back of the van to sit with him while he calms down, giving him water and what support he can. It takes Frank a good ten minutes, and several mercifully dry retches into a spare brown bag, to calm down, just fighting to get his body under control again before finally, with a nod to Mikey, he pushes away far enough to sit on his own.

“Is... Is everyone okay?” Ray's voice is shaking as he drives, unable to look back to check for himself, but then Bob is clambering over the back of the seat and into the passenger side.

“We're good. We're okay.”

“Gee?”

Frank tries to pick himself up off the floor of the van, his sodden clothes chilling him now and leaving a mess all over the blanket, but he keeps trying to move, to reach Gerard. “Gee? You o-”

“Don't touch me!” Gerard scuttles back into the corner behind Bob's seat, his hands wrapped tight against his chest. “Please, don't- Oh God, what have I done?”

“It was Bert,” Frank murmurs, voice too fragile and just a sandpaper rough wheeze, but he's still trying to crawl closer even as Mikey holds out a hand to pull him back. “You were just trying to protect me, fuck, you did protect me, Gee you saved me-”

“It wasn't all Bert, he- I let him, and when, Frankie, when they hurt you, I- It was _me_ , I started it, I let him... I enjoyed it-”

“Oh Gee,” pushing past Mikey, Frank crawls the rest of the way into the corner beside Gerard and wraps an arm around him, his other hand sliding between them to wrap over Gerard's taut fingers. “It's okay. It's gonna be okay.”

“No, it's not, I can... I can feel him in me, that man I- His energy, I _took_ it, Frankie I'm supposed to heal not harm, what am I- What am I becoming?”

“Shh,” Frank takes Gerard's hand and places it over his own knee, the sharp scream of a twist reduced to a heartbeat throb of pain now his weight is off it. Placing Gerard's palm over it, he strokes his fingertips over Gerard's. “Then get rid of him, give his energy to me, he hurt me, use him to fix me, that's gotta be good Karma or balance or some shit, right?”

Laughing weakly, Gerard twists to cling to Frank even as his hand automatically rubs soothing circles over the sore knee, the pain beginning to fade. “I don't think it works quite like that, Frankie. I'm tainted, and it keeps getting darker and darker and I'm losing, I'm losing myself...”

“We'll figure it out.” Looking round the group, Frank can almost feel the concern coming off of Bob and Ray, and Mikey is a small shadow of himself in the opposite corner of the van, his eyes bright with fear and pain. “Together. Right?” Nods agree with him, and Frank relaxes back against Gerard. “Right. First things first: families. My mom?”

“Is on her way to your dad's,” Bob says quickly, “then they're heading to your aunt, uh Amy?”

“She's not a real aunt, so no family trace, and kind of a conspiracy theorist, so perfect. Tori?”

“On her way to my nan's,” Ray calls from the front seat, “once they get hold of my brothers they'll go join her and keep an eye on her. My parents are staying put to help fix the white net and keep an eye on your place. Fix the front window and all that.”

Snorting, Frank nods. “Good point. Bob? Have you heard from your folks?”

“No, but we discussed it before, the whole Plan B bit, and your mom and the kids are the only ones heading out of town. Everyone else is staying, most of them are still hidden by the residual remnants of the spell, so running would make it worse. Not to mention, my dad isn't exactly good in new places, the Wolf is really territorial. If we've managed to draw the WitchFinders away as planned they’ll all be safer there than anywhere else anyway, once they fix the net properly.”

“True.” Looking around the van, Frank spots his own bag tucked in next to the others and lets out a sigh of relief. “You grabbed the rest of my things, awesome.”

A small smile crosses Mikey's face as he pulls the bag out from the others and slides it across the van to Frank. “You might wanna shower before you get changed though.”

Grinning wide amongst a face full of mud, Frank shrugs. “You think?”

“You'll catch a chill,” Gerard says quietly and motions for his own bag which Mikey then slides over. “I've got some wipes in here.”

Without a word, Mikey switches places with them and looks out over Bob's shoulder to give them some privacy. Frank can't help shivering as he strips out of his sodden clothes and scrunches them up in a plastic bag, hanging his jacket up over the pile of bags to dry off before he can try and brush the mud off. His jeans are practically brown now, his knees stained even through the layers, and splashes of mud track up his ankles too as he kicks off his sneakers.

Gerard methodically starts to wipe over the mud stains on his skin even as Frank pulls a fresh hoodie on with a sigh of relief before offering his hands to Gerard. It's strangely intimate, the feel of the tissue against his skin and the intensity of Gerard's gaze, even with his friends making small talk in the front of the van and the smell of diesel and dirt and baby wipes in the air.

“You shouldn't've kissed me,” Gerard mutters at last as Frank wrestles his way into a pair of sweatpants.

“What?”

“Back there,” Gerard continues as he gathers up the dirty wipes and piles them up together, avoiding his gaze. “When I was- When Bert and I were... You shouldn't have kissed me.”

“It worked didn't it?”

“That's not the point.”

“Is to me.” Shuffling closer, Frank wraps his now cleaner self around Gerard and nuzzles into his neck. “As not thrilled as I am about having to share you with your ex-boyfriend, I am not letting him push me away, so you'd better get used to it. And we’ll figure out a way to get rid- Move him on. I promise.”

“Frank, I can't-”

“It's you in control now, right?”

Nodding slowly, Gerard is still rigid beside him, not hugging him back or anything and ignoring Frank's hands as they try to rub soothing circles over his back.

“I figure, he's not used to the whole Magic crash thing and has gotta be sleeping his ass off in there right now, if even William needs some downtime after this shit, a possessing ghost thing probably has the same deal. So,” Frank smiles, leaning in to place a chaste kiss against Gerard's temple, “just chill for a bit, get your strength back. We're all here, everyone's safe. We will fix this, I swear.”

“Frank-”

“Shh.” Pulling his bag behind him for some padding and setting his back more firmly against the side of the van, Frank pulls Gerard down into his lap, curling them together with Gerard's head against his thigh. “Just breathe, okay? Just... Just breathe with me for a bit. Please.” Stroking his fingers through Gerard's hair, Frank looks up at Mikey, watching them almost jealously. With a nod of his head, Frank beckons him over and Mikey follows easily, crawling over to wrap behind Gerard and bury his face between his shoulderblades. Gerard's hand reaches back and without a word he rests it on Mikey's hip.

Adrenaline fading, the sound of the engine and now gentle rocking of the van lulls the two brothers into sleep as Frank keeps watch.

********************************************

“So what's the plan?” Frank yawns as he leans over the back of Bob's seat and stares out at the road, not recognising the area at all which is not surprising. Even just out of town is still a mystery to him and they've been driving for a good hour already. “Did anyone manage to grab any fresh supplies or anything, 'cause I don't know about you but I'm starving.”

“You're always hungry,” Bob says, arms folded across his chest as he stares out the windscreen.

“Hey, if Harry Potter has taught us one thing, it's that being on the run without food makes you evil. Or, at least, y'know, cranky and shit. Plus I dunno about you,” Frank adds, leaning closer and dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “But with those guys almost literally scaring the shit out of me, I really need to take a leak.”

Reaching back to hit Frank around the back of the head, Bob chuckles but nods nonetheless. “He's right, we've got some supplies but we should stop soon and eat properly, catch our breaths. We should be far enough out by now that we've lost them. 'Sides, if we stop we can always switch drivers too.”

“That I have no problem with,” Ray says, eyes still focused solely on the road. “You okay to take over for a bit, Bob?”

“Yeah, worst of the adrenaline shakes are gone now. Thought you liked driving?”

“I do, but stunt driving in a fucking van is not my kind of driving.”

“You and me both,” Frank says, tapping his hands against the seats. “Or, really, any sort of driving I guess.” Resting his chin on the back of the seats he gives his best puppy dog eyes at Bob. “So, food, yes yes?”

“Yeah,” Bob says, pulling out his phone and checking the maps on it. “I'll keep an eye out for somewhere. You two look like shit though so it’ll have to be takeout. How's Gee?”

Frank looks back into the rear of the van and at the curled up form of Gerard, his head now resting on Mikey's thigh. It looks as though they are just curled up as usual but the slight whiteness to Gerard's knuckles betrays how hard his fingers are wrapped around Mikey's jeans, even in sleep. His eyes are circled grey with fatigue and twitching with dreams, even with Mikey stroking soothing fingers over his hair.

* _Mikey?*_

Mikey looks up from his intent study of his brother, the smudges and fine lines of pain around his eyes telling of the headache raging behind his temples.

* _How's he doing?_ *

Shrugging, Mikey carries on stroking his brothers head. _*He's Gee, I think, I... I can't read him but I think..._ *

Nodding in understanding, Frank scoots back across across the rough blanket covering the van floor and settles beside Mikey, tucking an arm around him. “Knowing Gee, he is gonna be starving when he rejoins us so that's a vote for food, huh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Cool, Bob, google us up somewhere vegan friendly but with a deep fat fryer, or maybe a Starbucks for Gee.”

“You and your fucking taste in food Iero. You’re gonna be a giant pain in the ass, aren't you?”

“Just find a dead cheap, all you can eat, Chinese food place that opens for breakfast and we're golden.”

Grumbling quietly about whether Frank would like a side order of flying pig ribs with that, Bob returns his attention to his phone, trying to find somewhere that actually exists outside of fantasies that can handle their different tastes. Or  at least a convenience store to grab Frank something while they hit up McDonalds.

Frank grins and settles back along Mikey's side, resting his head against his shoulder and letting their heads touch.

_*You okay in there?*_

_*Yeah, fine.*_

_*Bullshit. *_

Rolling his eyes, Mikey just keeps staring at Gerard's face as he sleeps.

_*How did I miss it? He's my brother Frank, I live with him and I didn't even know this was happening to him.*_

_*Don't be so hard on yourself,*_ Frank lets his hand rest over Mikey's, following his movements through Gerard's hair. _*I've been literally closer to him than any of you, and I didn't stop anything-*_

_*Telepath, Frank, I should've known!*_

_*You've said it yourself, Gee can block you, and Bert obviously has been getting into some of his powers so must have been doing the same, or it's such an instinct he can't turn it off.*_

_*I should've known, if I hadn't been so caught up in my own stuff- *_

_*Fucking cheerleaders you mean?*_

Elbowing Frank hard, Mikey can't help a small smile nonetheless. _*Shut up.*_

_*Hey, no, you be proud of your man whore ways.*_

“Hey, Frank, can you eat anything at Denny's?” 

Rolling his eyes, Frank lets his head thud back against the wall of the van. This is gonna be a long trip.


	3. Chapter 3

A raid on a small convenience store later, and the back of the van is littered with crumbs and pastry wrappers and rapidly tiring young men. Bob and Ray are both propped up against the back of the seats, all but falling into each other as they chew tiredly, Mikey already asleep in the corner beside them in a heap of sleeping bags. Gerard is lying on his side against the wall, watching warily as Frank pores over the map spread out on the van floor, rustling with each move it makes as it crushes the layer of debris beneath it.

“Okay, so according to that clerk in the store there's, what, a bunch of motels out off the turnpike?”

“Yeah,” Bob mutters back, fighting to keep his eyes open despite the steady noise of commuting traffic and people moving past the van in the small parking lot. “We should be able to get a room there after noon, so just a couple of hours to wait and we can get cleaned up and check in with the folks again, let them know we're safe for a bit.”

“You sure that's wise?” Frank asks quickly, rocking back onto his heels as he crouches down, all curled up into an uncomfortable looking ball. “We talked about getting a burner phone-”

“We'll take the long route,” Ray murmurs, “use Tori as a messenger pigeon, anyone wants to tap her phone they’ll get bored with the adolescent shit she sends long before they even reach our messages. 'Sides, we won't say where we are, just that we're safe, get some news, see when we can go back, that sort of thing. With any luck they'll be able to get the net up tonight, we'll lose the WitchFinders, and we can circle back in the morning. ”

“And what happens to Gee?” Frank asks, glancing down even as Gerard's eyes shift up to lock with his. “If we go back, they gonna want to try that BS again, or you think they'll let me do my fucking job next time?”

“Your 'fucking job' didn't do much good last time,” Bob says, flicking a peanut across the map at Frank's knees. “We need someone who knows what they're doing.”

“Medium's aren't that common and you know it, so shut up,” Ray snaps, “one problem at a time, both of you. First, safety, then once we're settled, we deal with Bert somehow. We'll fix this, Gerard.” Gerard nods slowly, then rolls over to face the wall of the van.

“Uh, Gee?”

“Let him rest, he needs it-”

“No, I know, I mean...” Bob reaches into his pocket and pulls out a length of ribbon with an apologetic look on his face and Frank frowns. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Reaching out, Bob rests his hand on Gerard's shoulder. “Gee, before you sleep I gotta... We gotta bind you again, just in case.”

Nodding once, Gerard twists back enough to hold out his wrists and Frank can't help the wince on his face as he takes in the blood still staining the cuffs almost black instead of blue. Bob works quickly, pushing Gerard's sleeves back and gently placing his hands together before wrapping the ribbon around them again. This isn't the hasty knot they had to use before, this time an intricate pattern begins to take place with each loop, the whole thing almost beautiful by the time he is finished, even though its cause is most decidedly an ugly one.

As soon as Gerard is bound he turns away again, his eyes dark and almost ignoring their concerned glances before they go back to the map and their plans.

“Okay, so we get a motel room, clean up a bit, get grounded again, then try and come up with the next step, right?”

“Sure,” Frank says automatically, even as his eyes stay fixed on Gerard. “Sure.”

****************************

The motel is a dump, but it's cheap, and mostly clean (by teenage boy standards anyway). Frank is pretty sure his mom would freak out at the sight of the mystery stains on the carpet, but the bedding doesn't smell of anything but detergent, there are no stray curly hairs lurking in the blankets, and the bathroom has hot water. It's better than the van at least, even if they have only got two queen beds for five guys.

Despite it being the middle of the day, Bob and Ray lose just enough layers to be comfortable before claiming one of the beds, the pair of them out almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Mikey just takes up position in the tiny armchair by the window, the orange-brown curtains drawn across but letting enough light in for him to see the whole room clearly. His knees come up to his chest as he draws into a ball on the sagging chair, but he just perches there despite offers to take the other bed.

Frank has different priorities though. And they are not the ones that would usually be going through his mind as he drags his boyfriend into the small bathroom with him. The bolt is flimsy and besides, if something Bert-related does happen, Frank doesn't want it in the way, so he just closes the door behind them. He starts the shower running before stripping off his top and hooking it on the back of the door, shortly followed by his pants, and kicks his shoes and socks into a corner as steam starts to build up.

Gerard is just standing there though, his fingers laced together in front of him by the ribbon, sure, but not even trying to help, no jokes, no innuendo, not even an honest to God blush at the sight of his boyfriend getting naked in front of him and Frank sighs before reaching for the ribbon.

“Gee, I need some sort of feedback from you, babe, you still in there? I just wanna get us both cleaned up, okay? I've got mud festering in places that it really shouldn't be, you've still got- You stink, sorry man, but it's true, and if I'm gonna share a bed and van with you for the next few days, you gotta at least wash your fucking hair.” Ruffling Gerard's hair, Frank uses the motion to tip his head up enough to be able to look into his eyes, despite Gerard's obvious reluctance. “Gee?”

“It's me,” Gerard sighs, closing his eyes even as Frank strokes fingertips along his jaw, scraping over a soft dusting of stubble. “What's left of me anyway.”

“That's all I need,” Frank says, dropping his hands lower over the rumpled sleeves of the too big hoodie and tugging gently at the cuffs to pull them up again and look at the ribbon criss crossing over Gerard's wrists. “Now, how do I get this off again-”

“No, don't-”

“Gee, I can't even get the hoodie off you with this on. You gotta wash-”

“What if he comes back, what if I hurt you, Frank-” The panic in Gerard's eyes is terrifying and Frank shushes him as best he can, even as he tugs gently at the knot holding the ribbon in place.

“The binding, does it have to be both wrists to work?”

Gerard hesitates, looking down at their hands almost guiltily. “In theory, no, just having the ribbon around me should do it, but I can't control him Frank, if he comes back-”

“He will still be bound and can't _hurt_ me, or you, or anyone else here. Just, here,” Frank says quietly, calmly, as he unwraps the ribbon from one wrist only before looping off the remaining length around Gerard's still bound arm. “The magic will still work, he can't hurt you right now.”

“You don't know that,” Gerard says bitterly, “you didn't even know binding existed a day ago.”

“Yeah but like you said, it's not the words that count, it's the thought, and right now? I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you.” Sliding his fingers up under the hem of Gerard's shirt, Frank lifts the top and shirt underneath it off in one go, flinging them down to the floor and ignoring the faint waft of metallic blood clinging to them. “We're all here, all of us, even William-”

Gerard looks around instantly and Frank can't help the soft snort of laughter as Gerard blushes at last, the colour a welcome change to the pale grey lining his face.

“No, not right in here, not- He's outside in the room, I left him with Mikey.”

Gerard relaxes again, just a little, the muscles of his shoulders still looking painful as the steam starts to cling to them, making his skin clammy in the cool bathroom. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Now, let's get cleaned up, okay?” Frank turns away, checking the water and grabbing the small bag of toiletries Ray had picked up at the market for them all and pulling out a razor. While he can go a bit longer without needing to shave (dammit, one day he will be able to grow a beard and it will be magnificent), Gerard will look like a tramp before long and besides, it's all part of the process. The shampoo is dirt cheap, smells strongly of apples and is bright green and reminiscent of dish soap, but it will do for now. Setting out the supplies, Frank turns back as he hears Gerard kick his shoes off into the corner with Frank's and finally step forward toward the water like a wary dog on bath night.

“You wanna go first? Or second?”

“I...” Gerard tails off, rubbing his bound wrist over the back of his neck, and Frank grins, reaching out to follow the hands path along Gerard's neck and gently pull him forward for a chaste kiss.

“Come on, let's save water. Side's, this way you can help me get the mud off my back, I swear my spine feels like it's getting mouldy.”

Smiling faintly, Gerard nods and, with encouragement, steps under the water before carefully pulling Frank in after him and dragging the flimsy curtain across behind them. It's cold, the spray never covering both of them at once, and there's the highly attractive sight of mud and blood mixing in the water and painting the way to the drain. Gerard's hair takes three sets of “lather, rinse, repeat” before Frank will let him leave, but for the first time in days it's just the two of them and while it's not sexual, it's intimate, and safe, and most importantly, it's enough for now.

********************************************

Mikey sits quietly in the small armchair, ignoring the pressure of the wooden frame pressing through the old stuffing and into the back of his shoulders, or against his calves. The room is quiet, Bob and Ray breathing deeply from their bed, the running water from the bathroom a soothing counterpoint to the gentle rumbling of the road just a stone's throw from their room. It's still, peaceful.

Breathing as steadily as he can, Mikey gently starts to unfurl the tight grip he's been holding on his mind for nearly an entire day now, slowly letting himself relax and stop trying to block out every single sound and thought he can. It's as though he's held his fist clenched for hours and hours, his knuckles white with strain and his fingers mottled with the lack of blood. His mind feels blotched and raw, some places scrubbed and bruised deep with the repeated impacts of the failed spells and trauma and emotion around him, other parts white and numb with disuse.

It stings, his head pounding as he imagines the blood returning to his brain, his shields, such as they are, slowly, painfully fading as he tries with each shuddering breath to let go at last. It hurts, like coming in from a snowball fight and peeling off his clinging gloves then putting his hands on the radiator, burning with the warmth as it floods in. He can see his hands shaking with the effort, fingers trembling against the arm of the chair, but ignores them, unable to focus on the physical right now, beyond the effort to keep on breathing, slow and deep.

A thud from the bathroom distracts him, a flash of image from Frank of a shampoo bottle scuttling between bare feet, and the sound of a bitten back laugh, but it is gone in a second and he can't help the small smile on his lips from it, the sheer normality of it almost shocking compared to the last day.

Taking a deep breath, Mikey closes his eyes and focuses on the room around him, reaching out cautiously towards the sleeping minds on the bed, the gentle brush of their thoughts soft and hazy with dreams, and as familiar to him as his own family. A very quick, split second brush against Frank's mind is thankfully free of the heat and lust he has come to associate with accidentally encountering Frank's thoughts. The lack of worry and fear is reassuring though, and the strange blankness of Gerard beside him comforting in its own way.

Beyond the room the motel is quiet, most rooms empty, the singing of a maid on the lower floor a gentle melody in the background, her voice too quiet to be heard out loud, but inside her head a gala performance is occurring. The desk clerk is engrossed in some daytime drama, the actors providing company between guests appearing. Nobody has even the slightest concern or worry about the five boys crammed into one room.

Relaxing a little, Mikey opens his eyes again, trembling as he grabs his bag off the floor and fumbles for the painkillers inside, the rattle of the bottle depressingly empty sounding. They're going to need to find a pharmacy next time they hit the shops.

He's still fumbling with the bottle when the bathroom door opens, Frank emerging in a too small towel held closed by his left hand as he flicks his right through his hair, sending water droplets everywhere. With a grin at Mikey, he fumbles open his backpack and starts throwing the contents out onto the floor before grabbing a pair of boxers with triumph, hooking his fingers through the strap of Gerard's bag too, and vanishing back into the bathroom.

When he next comes out, the towel is around his neck catching stray drips and the boxers are clinging a little to his slightly damp skin, mercifully covering enough to be decent. His body is mottled with red and purple bruises coming into show, the scars from his burns almost invisible in comparison with the harsh bruise on his knee and a small pattern of fingertip marks on his wrist.

Gerard is right behind him, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants and looking decidedly more human. The ribbon around his arm is wet, clinging tightly to his skin like a tattoo sleeve, but his wrists are thankfully now free of blood and the lines on his palms have faded completely. You could almost look at him and not know anything is wrong.

Except for when Gerard sees Mikey looking and hunches down, refusing to meet his gaze and instead heading for the second bed. He gets in without saying a word, almost hiding under the covers, and Frank gives him a slightly despairing look before simply shrugging at Mikey and following suit. Once in, Frank beckons Mikey to join them, but Mikey can't, he can't touch anyone else right now, not whilst he's finally starting to open up. With a small nod, Frank gives him a little wave goodnight and wraps an arm over Gerard, tucking in behind him and falling asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Slipping out of the chair and onto the scratchy hotel carpet, Mikey grabs a spare sweater from his own bag and tucks it under his head as a pillow before stretching out his body flat against the floor, hands resting lightly on his chest. With each breath in, he imagines light filling his body, coming in from the air, from the ground beneath him, from the world itself. With each breath out, he imagines his exhale as a dark cloud, every toxin and worry and trace of the leftover spell inside his body flowing out of him into the sky, or draining out into the floor. His world shrinks again to just that, just the next breath in, the next breath out.


	4. Chapter 4

Ray wakes, confused at first, then blinking slowly back to consciousness with a heartfelt sigh. Yep, he really is in a motel, in bed with Bob (who's spooning him, for fucks sake), and with Gerard and Frank curled up around each other in the next bed. Frank's snoring like a dinosaur who smokes forty a day, a definite wheeze still lingering at the end of each exhale; they really should try and get him something for that, if Gerard can't help at the moment.

It takes him another moment to realise what has awoken him, the faint shudder from his hip confusing the hell out of him before remembering he's still fully dressed. Shifting to slide his phone from his pocket, he ignores Bob's muttered comment about crazy vibrating pants, then sits up before staring blearily. Text messages are coming in still, six so far, and he smiles a little as Tori's name comes up over and over.

Then he reads them and the smile fades.

Ray jumps as Mikey's face appears over the end of the bed, a shock of messed up hair and slightly unfocused eyes enough to make Ray's heart beat almost out of his chest. “What's wrong?”

Ray shakes his head, his phone continuing to buzz. “Where to start. Tori is at Gran's, she's safe, and is in touch with pretty much everyone. I think she's loving being the one with all the information for once, but she's crap at condensing it down so yeah, data dump to be sure. Your gran was pretty wiped out after the spell when the folks last saw her, some bruises, sprained wrist, sore hip, but she managed to put the fire out eventually. That storm was her, obviously, and they hear she's sleeping it off at your parent's house, they're keeping an eye on her.”

Scrolling down his phone, Ray rolls his eyes. “Oh and apparently _our_ gran is a heathen who doesn't even have wi-fi - can you even believe that - she's having to actually plug in her laptop and watch daytime cable TV, oh the humanity.”

Mikey smiles, just a little, even as Frank rolls over, his eyes open and flicking over them both before nudging Gerard. Gerard doesn't move, but behind Ray, Bob starts to sit up, rubbing his face and paying attention at last.

“So that's good right?” Frank asks quietly. “No harm done?”

“The garden's pretty much trashed,” Ray says softly, shrugging, “so she's lost an entire crop of pretty much everything, but there are seedlings for most plants at your folks’ right?”

Mikey nods, resting his chin on the foot of the bed as though too exhausted to hold it upright with his neck alone as he tiredly shoves his glasses into place.

“Wow, she is gonna have us on gardening duty for the next year isn't she?” Frank mutters, and Mikey throws him a tired grin. “Chuck me my phone, I should check too-”

“Oh your window is good, dad's already managed to get some boards up to cover it, and mom has cleared out the garbage and anything that will spoil.”

“Cool,” Frank says. Mikey manages to toss what is left in Frank's bag at him, the thud of the phone hitting the floor guiding Frank to it. It takes him a couple of attempts to stretch far enough out to grab it without toppling out of the warmth of the blankets, but he eventually drags the phone back into the cocoon with him. “Yeah, mom's safe at dad's. They're grabbing some more things then going on to Aunt Amy's from there.”

“Any word on the WitchFinders?”

“Ummm,” Ray scrolls through the messages and pales. “Yeah, about ten minutes after we left a strange car was spotted in the neighbourhood, stalking outside my house, but by then dad was already on the road with Tori and Mr B managed to scare them off.”

“Scare them off?” Bob asks with a small grin.

“He may have growled a little or something, she keeps it vague, but apparently they left pretty quickly. And somebody broke into the Jones' place, but they're out of town anyway. Looks like they searched little Amy's room pretty thoroughly though.”

“Amy?” Frank says, looking around. “Who's Amy?”

“Their daughter, she's only five. No powers yet, but her grandmother is pretty powerful, she and Elena were in a coven together once, but more importantly other than Amy and Tori, there are no other kids in our collective. So the youngest three Witches in town get visits from WitchFinders on the same night? That's fucking creepy.”

“Why kids?” Frank asks, then suddenly looks round at the corner of the room with a small smile and holds up his hand in what is rapidly becoming shorthand in the group for 'Bill's speaking”. The others sit in restless silence, already too aware of the answer, or at least the rumours, and wait as Frank's face wrinkles up in disgust. “Eww. Okay, yeah, Gee did mention that before I think, or someone did, I just... Stealing kids before they get their powers so you can, like, bring them over to the dark side? That's just fucked up.”

Shuddering, he cocks his head to the side and stares at the carpet for long enough that Ray starts to fear he's seen some sort of bug, and tries to discreetly pull his feet up back onto the bed.

“Wait,” Frank says slowly, sleep still messing up his voice but at least sounding alert. “I've _got_ my powers, they tried to grab me as a baby, fucked up 'cause my my mom is a secret badass-”

“Amen,” Bob mutters with a small grin. “You should've seen her tackle the one guy they left behind at the house, seriously, I think she's part Banshee.”

“Yeah, but, last night, they were after me, they wanted _me_ , they even said so, so why, I'm seventeen already, they gotta know my date of fucking birth, they caused it!”

“It might not be the same group,” Ray points out, “we have different collectives, they gotta have different factions or groups of whatever they want to call themselves. So if they just bust into town as soon as the net went down, they might've just watched the houses, or guessed, or some shit like that, I dunno, okay? But they probably don't know you've already turned seventeen, and let's face it, you're still raw enough that they could try and do something with you.”

“I'd like to see them try,” Frank says with a shit eating grin.

“For fuck's sake Frank,” Gerard says at last, still curled up and facing away from them in the bed. “You're just a kid compared to them, we all are, and they got to your mom when she was older and messed with her, what makes you think you're fucking immune? If we had got there one minute later, if we hadn't- This isn't a game! We almost lost you Frank, I-” His voice breaks off, muffled into the pillow.

“But you didn’t, and we still could lose you, or the WitchFinders could find us, so what should I do, huh?” Frank yells back. “Do nothing? Just sit back and wait for them to get me? I can’t do that Gee, I’m never gonna just, just, _wait_ , I have to do something-”

“Yeah, and look where that got me, you ever gonna think about someone else Frank or just do what you want and fuck the consequences?”

“You- I-” Rolling out of the bed Frank sits up and just stares down at the floor, “I did it for _you_ , you… And you…”

The silence that follows is uncomfortable to say the least, Mikey shuffling awkwardly in place at the end of the beds, fiddling with his hair then putting his glasses back on and taking them off again, all the while the three of them watching Frank just breathe in and out. Finally he stands up off the bed and starts throwing things back into his bag haphazardly.

“Frank-”

“I'm not-” Blowing out a sharp breath, Frank just grabs his bag and heads into the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself and leaving them all staring at each other.

_*Where the Hell did that come from?*_

_*Mikey, is he okay?*_

Mikey shrugs, half glaring at his brother, before giving Ray and Bob an apologetic smile.

_*He'll be fine, he's Frank,*_ Ray thinks with a determined nod.

_*That's cool, but do you think he's gonna be sulking for long?*_ Mikey and Ray both turn to look at Bob who just shrugs back at them. _*What, he can sulk anywhere, but I really gotta pee.*_

************************************

Fortunately for Bob's bladder, Frank re-emerges quite quickly, jeans covering his skinny legs and a baggy hoodie covering his torso and head as he flips the hood up, shoving his feet into his sneakers. Gerard hasn’t moved from his spot on the bed, face turned to the wall and back to the room, not even glancing at Frank as he moves around the room with purpose.

“Frank,” Ray says quickly, “are you-”

“Keys,” Frank says simply, looking at Bob and holding his hand out.

“No way are you driving my van-”

“Frank, are you crazy, we can't-”

“I'm just gonna go sit in it, okay?!” Frank snaps at their overlapping voices and shrugs down further into the sweater. “Look, I just... I wanna have a little space for a bit, I haven't had a chance to talk to Bill since this all kicked off and I want...”

“Sure,” Bob says quietly, floating the keys across the room and knocking them gently against the side of Frank's head before he reaches up and picks them out of the air. “Blankets are back right corner, sleeping bags back left, if you get cold.”

“If you need anything, just call.”

“Thanks Mikey, I won't be long.”

Without even a glance at Gerard's prone form, Frank heads out, keeping the hood up high and looking round before hurrying down the stairs to the car park. The roar of the road is a constant buzz in his ears, but the place itself is quiet, the parking lot mostly empty. The white noise of the world is a comfort, somehow solid and grounding as he forces his feet to keep moving. The world is still carrying on, even if his insides feel like solid concrete and fear at the thought of Gerard. It was just a stupid fight, it didn’t mean anything.

Right?

Letting himself into the back of the van, Frank pulls the doors shut after him and lies down on the blankets they abandoned in there. The whole thing smells of mud and damp, his dirty clothes dumped close enough to his head to make him wince, but not caring enough to move them. Frank instead stares up at the ceiling of the van, fighting off a tremble running through him as he tries to concentrate.

“Bill?”

“Still here.” Glancing to his left, Frank smiles slightly at the sight of his guide lying beside him, one long leg crossed over the other at the ankle and arms folded behind his head. “As always.”

“Could you, y'know, not be? If you wanted to?” At William's confused frown, Frank shakes his head. “I don't mean- I know you can give me privacy and that, but if I asked you to go see someone else, make sure she's- that they're okay, could you?”

Understanding floods over Bill's face and he turns to lie on his side facing Frank. “She's fine Frank, I already looked in on her and she is safe and well. Worried about you of course, but that is nothing new.”

“Yeah, I haven't exactly helped with that.”

“Perhaps not, but she does truly understand. And it's not as though you go looking for trouble. Often.”

Snorting, Frank lets his hands rest on his stomach and looks up at the ceiling again, closing his eyes. “Yeah, and that's why I just yelled at Gee for no reason. I don't even know what I was saying, I just... Why'd I even do that?”

“Fear and love are a troublesome combination.”

Frank waits in silence for a minute before laughing. “That's it? That's the benefit of decades worth of undead voyeurism, love sucks?”

“I'm a spirit, not God,” Bill mutters, “I could be alive for another few centuries and still not understand the intricacies of wooing women, you expect me to have insight into your boyfriend troubles? Get a time machine or ask your Seer friend instead.”

“Man what I wouldn't give for a good clear vision on this all right now.” Frank sighs and rolls his head to look at Bill. “This is gonna work out, isn't it? Gee I mean, I can- Can I fix him?”

“Yes,” Bill says quickly, with complete certainty and faith and it makes Frank's eyes water with relief just to hear it. “Yes, of course you can, but it will take all your strength and you will need to prepare properly this time. And you will need more help than I can give. You need proper training, from someone who knows what they are doing but can also show you, guide you from this side. We need to find another medium.”

“Yeah, but there's no rush is there? Gee's okay for now, he's not getting worse, the binding-”

“The binding will stop Bert from abusing Gerard's powers. It will stop him from harming anyone else. As you may have seen, it is not as effective when it comes to harming himself and Gerard... Your friend seems to have a natural inclination towards things that aren't good for him. The longer this goes on and the more he loses his control, his center, the more vulnerable he will be.” Bill smiles and twists onto his side to regard Frank properly. “But he has you, all of you, his coven surrounding him and lending him your energy, your love. That will help more than you know.”

The words spark something in Frank and he frowns, remembering the graveyard from the night before, even though it feels like a lifetime ago, and the feeling he got then. “Lending him energy... That's what they did, didn't they, last night, not the guys, they were busy enough coming to rescue my ass, but the, the ghosts, in the cemetery, they helped me. How did they... Why did they do that?”

“Because they care,” Bill says with a small laugh, “they are but shadows of their former selves but most of them stay out of love. Love and patience and devotion is all they carry with them, not fear or hate. They could see you, sense you, like a beacon in the darkness and they... Like you, for lack of a better word, or perhaps are drawn to you is a better way of looking at it. You have been in their place, their sanctuary, and they've watched over you, so why would they not choose to help you when you needed it? It costs them little, and they can see the light in you, it would be easy to contribute to it, to fan the flame a little when it dimmed.”

“Huh?”

Shaking his head, Bill shrugged. “They are not alive, they have no fire in them themselves, but they can breathe on the flame and help it grow brighter. Much the same way the troubled spirits can deprive it of oxygen and make it dim.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Bert, the oxygen sucking little shit-” Pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes and pressing tight, stars shooting through his vision as the pressure builds, Frank takes a deep breath and sighs. “How did we miss it? How? You helped me before, you fought off Bert, how come you didn't know where he was, that he was in Gee, why didn't you see that-” Frank broke off, unable to find the right words to say, the silence growing in the cold van as his breath mists the air, nothing joining it from Bill's side, before he finally continues.

“You said... You said you saw darkness in Gerard, was that it, was it Bert, was there- Was there something we could have done, before I-”

“Frank,” William whispers softly before shifting to sit cross legged in the back of the van. “Oh Frank. I wish I could have warned you, I wish I had foreseen this coming or been able to perceive Bert's presence, but I'm not... I'm a spirit Frank. I can guide you in dealing with other spirits, I can interact with other spirits, and yes, I can protect you from them, that is my job and one I chose gladly, no matter what minor costs it may have on my form or energies. And yes, just as they can hurt you spirits can also choose to help you if they wish, but once a spirit is inside a body they just aren't on the same plane as me any more. I can no more see a spirit inside a body than you could see the beating of a heart inside a chest.”

“But you can see Gee's like aura or shit, you said it was dark-”

“Magic is not the same thing, Frank, magic is but the roots and leaves of the tree that bind your world and mine together. Magic binds you to the earth, its roots plunging deep into the very life of the planet itself, and magic lifts you up into the sky, its branches reaching higher and higher into the wind of the other planes of reality. I can see your power around you, the wisps of it reaching out from your body, and I can see how healthy they are, how deep your roots can go and how high you can reach, and yes, I can see disease or damage to the magics. So perhaps the darkness I saw was the result of Bert's invasion, or maybe it was Gerard himself who damaged his Magic through his own actions, but there is no way of seeing the cause, only the effect.”

“Gee wouldn't damage himself, he would never-” Frank breaks off, frowning. “He wouldn't, he...”

Bill doesn't speak, just sits in silence and watches as Frank breathes deeply in the chilly van, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders to stave off the chill.

*********************************************

Frank shuffles back into the room quickly, pushing the door closed as a chill blast of wind chases him back inside. He can almost see the tension in the air, can feel an actual physical tightening in his shoulders as he takes in the room. Mikey is back in his chair, legs pulled up high and thumbs tapping over his phone despite his eyes being fixed on his brother. Gerard is at least sitting up now, perched on the end of the bed with his wrists bound together and the remote for the tiny TV in the corner between his palms.

Bob is behind him, casually leaning against the headboard, a grotesque velvet covered thing screwed straight to the muddy red wall that makes Frank's head itch just looking at it. For all Bob is carefully casual though, he too is staring at Gerard with a wary eye and twitching fingertips, thumb and fingers tapping over each other in some obscure beat.

Ray is the only one actually doing something other than staring, all his focus on his phone (and actually using it, unlike Mikey). But he's twitchy, distracted, shooting annoyed looks at the TV, which is weird as it could be worse, it's not some awful talk show, just some cheesy blues music and-

“Mmmm, oh, yeah, yeah...”

Frank almost snorts with laughter at the sight of the soft porn filling the tiny TV screen, reminding him of deeply unsatisfying nights with his first smartphone trying to download more than a few seconds of gay porn every three minutes. “Seriously?”

Gerard looks round, a slow and lazy leer starting to fill his face and suddenly Frank doesn't feel like laughing at all.

“Fraaaaaaank,” Bert drawls, tossing the remote control aside and reaching out with both hands, suddenly making Frank realise just why they are tied together again, and sprawls back on the bed, legs spread wide. “Baby, mmm, come on big boy, oh yeah,” he says, mocking the plastic actress now being pounded on the screen.

“When the Hell did he get back?”

“Not long after you left,” Ray says sharply, glancing again at the screen. “And can we _please_ not watch this shit at all, but especially not when I'm texting my little sister, for fuck's sake.”

“Not so little any more, Ray-Ray, damn but that kids gonna be a hottie, yum, yummmmm.”

“Bert, shut up before I gag you, and change the damn channel.” Bob's voice brooks no nonsense but Bert twists on the bed to regard him from upside down, sticking his lower lip out in a pout.

“You're no fun any more Bobby B.” Sighing melodramatically, Bert points the remote at the TV and presses a button at random, a loud jeering crowd filling the air. “Ugh, what is this shit?”

“I dunno, some talk show, keep flicking if you have to, but no porn, okay?” 

Grumbling, Bert rolls over again to sit up and stare at the TV. “You guys suck, way to take the fun out of a guy’s afterlife.”

“This isn’t your afterlife,” Frank spits out, kicking off his shoes and flopping onto the bed beside Ray. “This is Gerard’s _life_ so get the fuck out of him.”

“Wow, gee whizz, tempting as that sounds even being able to watch this shit, in this shithole, with you shitheads is better than that dreary little shit infested cemetery so I’m gonna stick around, okay pumpkin?”

“Watch the TV and shut up,” Bob murmurs, even as Ray reaches out without even looking to keep Frank on the bed instead of letting him get up and give in to the temptation to smack the Bert in Gerard’s clothing on the other bed. “Ray, anything new?”

“Not much, Tori’s mostly bored and waiting for the others to get there. So far, gran’s going crazy cooking up a feast for ‘her boys’ and Tori is staking her claim on the nicest bedroom. Oh, and bitching about being forced into 'child labour' making beds in the other rooms.”

“Plural? How many are going?” Frank asks, still shooting glares at the back of Bert’s head. “Thought you said your brothers were gonna look out for her?”

“Yeah, course getting time off work and school is easier for some than others, and travelling time, but gran should have most of a full set by next weekend.” Frank raises an eyebrow that Ray doesn’t even notice but Bob snorts.

“He means the other six Toro boys.”

“Six?” Frank twists on the bed to look at Ray. “You’ve got six brothers?”

“All older,” Mikey adds from his chair, a small quirk of a sympathetic smile on his lips. “Which makes Ray number seven.”

“They breed them big, butch, and bountiful in the Toro family,” Bob says, “his dad’s number seven too.”

“Freaky.”

“Thanks,” Ray says drolly, “what can I say, my parents are like bunnies.”

“Weirdest part is, his mom still has all her powers, plus bits of theirs. She’s like this super Witch but instead of being all powerful and shit, she’s just kinda this zen supermom.” Bob looks over from Bert and shrugs. “Takes all sorts I guess.”

“So, no news then? No all clear?”

“Nope, imagine it’ll be a few days at least so may as well get comfy.” Stretching out with a yawn, Ray finally puts his phone aside and shakes his head. “Speaking of, she’s gotta go help peel potatoes so I get half an hour of peace, and I’m gonna go get a shower. You okay with…” He trails off, staring at Bert, but Bob nods reassuringly and throws him a thumbs up. “Good, good.”

Frank watches him go, taking advantage of his absence to stretch out on the bed, but can’t stop watching Bert as he flicks over to the next channel and crows in triumph.

“Oh, hey, Sesame Street, cool.” 

Burying his face in the pillow, Frank tries to smother a scream. 

**********************************

Gerard wakes up slowly, stiff and loose limbed all at once, exhausted to the core and fighting against each glimmer of consciousness forcing its way back into his head. The stiffness in his body resolves slowly into a steady ache in his neck and back, as though he’s lying on a hard floor, and he sighs, waiting for the headache and nausea of a hangover to kick in.

Huh. No hangover. Then why-

Gerard tries to raise a hand to his face to rub at a strange itch on his cheek, only to find it too heavy to move even as something tugs at his other hand.

Very weird.

Forcing his eyes as open as he can through the grit and sand tugging at his eyelashes like velcro, he stares up through the weird orange brown light at the unfamiliar off white ceiling with very suspicious stains on it. The side of a bed towers up beside him, at least confirming one thing: he IS on the floor.

Lifting the moon-sized mass that has replaced his head as best he can, Gerard risks a look along his body and frowns. His wrists are tied together again, the ribbon a little looser than he remembers but still keeping him in place and the intricate weaving of the strands means it must have been someone other than Frank. When the Hell did that happen?

“Fuuuuuck,” Gerard breathes slowly, then winces as a head bearing a wild mass of curly hair suddenly looms over him.

“You can say that again.”

“What did I- Bert, what did he do this time?”

“You mean other than sing an entire medley of songs around the common theme of ‘dead’ last night? Not a lot, really, that was enough.”

“I wanted to gag him,” Bob says sullenly from somewhere out of sight, “but Ray here wouldn’t let me, called it a choking hazard.”

“Bert did suggest other ways we could shut him up, but really, I wasn’t in the mood,” Frank calls down before one of the beds creaks and his face appears over the edge. His eyes are shadowed with tiredness as he regards Gerard, but also guilt. “How you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Gerard admits, his voice cracking a little on the sounds. “Singing huh?”

“Yep,” Frank passes a bottle of water down, then, taking in Gerard’s tied hands, clambers in an ungainly mess of limbs off the bed before kneeling beside Gerard and helping him sit up. Loosening Gerard’s tied hands, then the bottle cap, Frank passes it over and watches as Gerard drinks most of it in one go. “He can carry a tune, it was actually pretty good, but 2am when you’re trying to sleep? Not a great time for a Bon Jovi tribute act.”

“Bon Jovi?”

“ _Sleep when I’m Dead_ ,” Frank says with a small smile. “Fucking loudly. Thought someone would’ve complained but Mikey reckons this place is pretty dead right now.”

Gerard laughs, just once, as he brings the bottle down to his lap. “Figures. The dick used to keep me awake with that all night unless I-” Breaking off, he fiddles with the bottle, dirty nails picking at the edge of the label. “You all okay?”

“Pretty fucked, thanks,” Bob admits from somewhere out of sight, “but now you’re back maybe we can get some sleep, unless Frank starts snoring again.”

“Screw you Bryar, I have an adorable purr and you know it.”

“You sound like a fucking T-Rex with a head cold. Now shut up, drag your boyfriend to bed, and go the fuck to sleep.”

“You can come up here,” Mikey says at last, appearing from behind the bed Ray isn’t hanging over the edge of. “I’m good.”

“You didn’t sleep much either,” Frank points out, but he is half dragging and half helping Gerard towards the bed anyway. 

“More than you did, ‘sides, I can sleep almost anywhere.”

“And with anyone,” Bob mumbles, but his breathing is already starting to even out and he misses the glare Mikey shoots him on his way to the chair.

“How long…” Gerard trails off as he bounces down onto the bed after a less than helpful shove from Frank trips him over the trailing sheets and into the still warm blankets. “How long was I…”

“Out? Absent? Possessed? The hyperactive overgrown toddler from Hell that is Bert?” Ray suggests helpfully but with an edge of sarcasm. 

“Yeah, that,” Gerard says, twisting his way into the blankets as best he can whilst Frank tugs and pulls them into place around him.

“Dunno, about 24 hours? You missed all of Saturday, but hey, we can go to church if you wanna.” Frank squirms in beside him, a wall of unexpected heat and comfort pressing against his side even as an arm wiggles across his chest and under his bound arms to hug him tight. “Or we can lie in. I like to lie in. Lie ins are good.”

Laughing in spite of himself, Gerard nods and tries to ignore the fear clawing at the edges of his eyes at the thought of going to sleep, of losing consciousness, and maybe control of his own body, yet again. “Yeah, lie ins are… Good. What time is it?”

“Still early, sleep.” Leaning in close, he whispers in Gerard's ear. “I'm sorry. For before. What I...”

“Me too, just... Can we forget about it?”

“Sure.”


	5. Chapter 5

Mikey wakes next, blinking back into consciousness with almost instant alertness. It's mid morning, the light creeping through the gaps in the curtain next to him too bright on his tired face, but no one else is stirring yet. He looks over the room, stretching out quietly and feeling his joints click with the moves. A slow shift of Ray's head sends his curls out across the pillow into Bob's face, making him stir in turn, but neither wakes. Standing up slowly from his chair, Mikey stretches out a kink in his spine, and slips his phone from his pocket, easily flicking past a dozen text messages from his friends and flings alike. The missed calls from his parents are harder to ignore, and the voicemails are blinking at him like fireflies in the dim room, calling him home, away from all this.

He shuffles into the bathroom, sliding the flimsy catch closed behind him, and leans back against the door before going through his phone again and starting the voicemails. The phone is pressed hard to his ear, his lips in a thin line as he listens to his mother's pleading, then his father's calm update and matter of fact statements hiding a world of pain and worry underneath. Mikey's fingertips turn white as he presses the phone harder, as though trying to merge into it and bring through more than just their voices.

He misses them already, doubt flooding his thoughts at the sound of their voices. He’s fine with hiding from WitchFinders for a few days, but spending a whole day with Bert in his brother's body has shaken him to the core. Hearing Bert through Gerard's familiar tones, seeing expressions that don't belong on his brother's face, it's too weird, too much, just one difference too many.

At least Gerard's phone was left behind so he doesn't have to hear them. Swiping his thumb across the screen, Mikey deletes the messages with a soft sigh. He can do this, it isn't for long.

It's not for long.

***************************************

Sunday passes in a lazy haze of inactivity, even Mikey taking his turn to sprawl out on the increasingly ripe sheets as they watch bad TV, the texts from Tori long since gone from useful information to a running commentary on their nan's taste in food. Frank is quiet, his phone always on him either in a pocket or the loose cradle of his fingers, but his mom is keeping quiet, just one or two texts coming from her or his dad, and even those are just simple 'we're okay, how are you?' updates.

Takeout makes a decent a Sunday dinner, the smell of stale food lingering in the too warm room and prompting them to open the window to let the frigid outside air in to try and shift it. By the time night is properly setting in, everyone but Gerard is lethargic but unable to sleep, staring blankly at the screen at some movie older than they are. Gerard, on the other hand is fast asleep, his wrists rebound at his insistence in case he changes while he sleeps, and the loose end gripped between his fingers like a security blanket.

Frank stares at the TV as some supposed teen flick actually starring twenty something Hollywood types comes on and glances over at Mikey. “Wonder what they'll say when we both don't turn up at school tomorrow, huh?”

Mikey shrugs, leaning back against the headboard of Gerard's bed, one long fingered hand stroking idly over his brother's hair. “Probably figure I've got a migraine, had real trouble with my head when I turned 17 so they know I get them. Usually good for a couple of days grace anyway. Your mom gonna blame your chest again?”

“Yeah, but I meant the guys. Teachers are one thing, The Brendon is another.”

“Oh God,” Mikey groans softly, “he is so gonna say we're having some sort of orgy, or some shit like that.”

“Speaking of orgies, hope your girlfriends cope without you for a bit, bet sales of AA batteries go up this week.”

“Screw you, Iero,” Mikey laughs, the gentle shaking making Gerard rock a bit in his sleep until Mikey calms down. “I don't have that many.”

“Nah, not that many. I mean you didn't hit triple digits yet!”

Rolling his eyes, Mikey stares without seeing at the TV, snorting at the breathy heroine getting all swoony over some stereotypical jock. “It's barely even double. It's fun, no one gets hurt, what's the big deal?”

“Just please don't pick up any fucking STDs,” Bob mutters from the other bed, aimlessly waving his hand and making leftover napkins float up from the take out leftovers and dance, in an oddly suggestive manner for flimsy paper products, across the floor. “Or knock anyone up, last thing we need is a bunch of moody, short-sighted toddlers hanging around.”

The pillow Mikey throws back in revenge sadly misses Bob completely; whether through Mikey's bad throwing or Bob's reflexes it's anyone's guess (Frank would bet on Mikey's throwing though). Unfortunately, it does not miss Ray, bouncing off the back of his head and toppling forward over the crystal ball raised up in front of him on top of his backpack.

Ray's confused stare is funny enough, but, as he is sitting cross legged on the floor the other side of the bed, it is made somewhat funnier as only his eyes and hair are immediately visible from Frank's angle. Clamping a hand over his mouth, Frank snorts with laughter even as Mikey raises an apologetic eyebrow and points at Bob.

Sighing, Ray shakes his head and tosses the pillow up onto the bed beside Bob before following it up, ball and bag in his arms as he sits down on the thin mattress and sets to work putting his things away again.

“No luck?” Mikey asks quietly, even though he must know the answer.

“No,” Ray sighs tiredly, carefully wrapping the crystal and wedging it into his bag inside a wad of clothing. “The vibrations in this place are shit: there's too much change, too many people coming and going. There's nothing solid to get a hold on to even begin to look outward.” Shrugging, he zips up his bag and drops it down onto the floor again. “Starting to see why our folks settled back home, can't believe I ever had trouble reading in our attic, seems like a piece of cake compared to this dump.”

“Hey, it's just temporary,” Bob says, stretching out a hand to press against Ray's shoulder reassuringly. “We'll be back before you know it.”

“Yeah, sure we will.” Ray nods, but doesn't meet their gaze, and Frank can't help but spot the frown on Mikey's face. Casually shifting his foot so it nudges against Mikey's leg, he raises an eyebrow at him as Ray and Bob shift around the small bed, getting as comfortable as they can in the narrow space.

* _What's up, Mikey?_ *

* _He doesn't believe it. That we'll be home soon I mean._ *

* _He's seen something?_ *

* _No, he's not lying exactly, he hasn't seen anything since we left home, but he's... I dunno, got a bad feeling about this._ *

* _Yeah, 'cause those always work out so well for us._ *

The movie suddenly blasts music at them, the big Prom ending approaching, and Frank forces a grin back onto his face as Ray turns to face the screen at last, squinting at the ancient fashions on the screen. “Damn, what the Hell are we watching?”

“Something older than your balls,” Bob mutters back. “Now shh, I wanna see if she goes for the cliched romantic lead bad boy who is gonna break her heart, or the geeky best friend she really thinks of as a brother, and who is totally closeted anyway.”

*******************************************

After another not particularly restful night there is one thing the boys can’t deny; their room stinks. A weekend of barely opening the door, let alone a window, combined with open packets of food and takeout and there is no avoiding the funk. Tidying up their stuff and leaving the trash piled in, on, and around the bin, and with Gerard safely wrapped up in ribbon and a thick hoodie, they head out for a very late breakfast that is definitely pushing into brunch territory, if not brenner. The diner isn’t far, thank goodness, and the coffee is hot and bottomless, which is the main thing.

The fact that there is also bacon just makes it a bonus.

“Oh my God,” Ray finally declares, sinking down into his bench seat and tossing his napkin onto the table. “I can’t eat another thing.”

Mikey shrugs and leans over, grabbing Ray’s plate and scraping the leftover eggs onto his own.

“I never know whether to be impressed or terrified by how you do that,” Bob admits, watching as Mikey happily pours syrup over the whole mess on his plate. “You’re a beanpole, where the Hell do you put it?” Mikey just shrugs again, before pointing a fork at Bob’s plate with a raised eyebrow. “No, I am not done with my waffles, back off, human trash bag.” Taking no offence, Mikey merely returns to his own plate even as Frank lets out a happy sigh and takes another sip of his coffee.

“Next time we run away from home, we are totally taking decent coffee with us, that instant stuff is shit.”

“Amen,” Ray mutters quietly, pulling his own cup closer and sparing a smile for the waitress as she moves away with his empty plate.

“Whoa, no, nuh uh, no way in Hell am I doing this again,” Bob says quickly. “You guys can get a different chauffeur next time, I just can’t wait to get the all clear and head home.”

“Now that I can drink to,” Gerard says. “Any guesses how long we gotta stay out here for?”

“Well, we're still waiting on some kind of update from the folks, or for your nan to calm down, so fuck knows,” Bob grumbles, using his fork to bat away another attempt from Mikey to steal his waffles. “If it’s Nonna, we could be out here until we’re her age. Her grudges last.”

“As long as she doesn’t accidentally curse us, we should be okay. Mostly.” Ray adds, “I mean, I’m sure she wouldn’t intentionally do anything to hurt us, just, y’know, accidents happen.”

“I’m starting to think that should be our motto,” Frank says, “either that or, ‘oops’.”

“Come on, it could be worse.”

“Was that another motto or was that supposed to be encouragement, Bob, ‘cause I gotta say, it’s not very reassuring.” Frank takes another swig of his coffee and stares out at the traffic moving past the window, the grey day holding only the faintest promise of spring to come. “How long doesn’t matter though, long as we find a way to fix Gerard again.”

Mikey holds out his mug and Frank chinks his against it, as Gerard just continues to work through the last of his breakfast. He’s eating slowly, playing with his food more than anything else, but is awake and chatting easily so Frank ignores it, concentrating on his own stomach and the feeling of normality of being there altogether. If he closes his eyes, or just focuses on his coffee cup, he could almost imagine they were back home, hanging out at the coffee shop after school or waiting for Mikey to finish his shift.

Of course, if they were really back home he’d be in school by now, so all in all, the fantasy needs some work.

“We’ll sort it, I’m sure the folks and Nonna are already on the case, and it’s not like we can’t do some planning ourselves, I made sure we packed the journals, we also have enough supplies for a few attempts, and we can pick up more basics if we need to. Anything more specialist, well, we’ll be home by then anyway so can get it from the collective.” Bob shrugs and wipes the last forkful of waffle to wipe up all the leftover syrup on his plate. “Hell, if we get really desperate we can even try and find a dealer.”

Frank snorts into his cup and shakes his head. “A dealer? What the fuck do you need, some of Nonna’s magic herbs?”

“Not that kind of dealer,” Ray says, “we don't need anything illegal-”

“Although,” Gerard cuts in, “interestingly enough, a lot of seers in the past have used narcotics to enhance their visions, just because Ray chooses to use meditation or his dream state as his way of altering his consciousness-”

“Ray does not _choose_ the fucking weird dreams, thank you very much, and Ray's boss is a bit of an anti-drug nut,” Ray mutters under Gerard's steady voice.

“- but he could equally choose to get out of his mind another way, so, y'know, sometimes there is a bit of overlap between the two. But in this instance Bob means an old school Magician or Spiritualist, someone who owns a magic or psychic shop, selling tricks and such but with a sideline in crystals and herbs, love potions, detox and herbal teas and such. A lot of them are just muggles trading to the whole New Age hippy type vibe-”

Frank looks at Gerard incredulously even as Ray grins and points to himself with his thumbs.

“-which is cool and all, plus makes it a LOT easier to blend in, but some of the shops are run by genuine Witches, you just have to know what to look for.” Gerard's enthusiasm for a familiar topic is infectious, making Frank grin and relax even further into his bench seat, just enjoying watching him talk, hands and face animated and bright for the first time in days. “The more hardcore suppliers, those you need to have a referral really, they tend to be on the move a lot to stay off the radar.”

“Yeah, you try getting werewolf strength restraints off the high street sex shops or even specialist S&M websites, especially cast in silver, that shit is what you'd call specialist,” Bob says matter of factly. “You think my basement is bad, you should've seen the seller's place, enough to give you nightmares for years.”

Gerard just blinks, slowly, as though trying to reset his brain, and Frank smirks behind his coffee cup. “Yeeeeeah, stuff like that. Or even the more mundane stuff like protective amulets, you can't just melt some silver into the right shape and be done with it, you need to cast spells at each stage of the process, tip it into the mould at the exact moment of sunset, that sort of thing. And of course the older a charm is the stronger it gets, different Witches passing it down, each imbuing it with some of their strength and aura even as it protects them, it's complex magic. Costs a bomb too.”

“Cool,” Frank says, nodding. “So, less Walmart, more Diagon Alley and creepy people's houses. Awesome. But we're okay for now right?”

Laughing, Ray nods. “Yeah, Gerard's little tool box is well stocked, and besides, it's not like we'll be out here for long.” Draining his cup, he catches the waitresses eye and motions for the tab. “Speaking of, come on, let’s get back before that coffee works its way through and we get a caffeine-buzzed Frank bouncing off the doorways again.”

“You do something one time...”

*************************************  
The afternoon is dark and dreary, but their stomachs are full and moods somewhat lifted, and the room at least is cleaner and fresher now. The sheets are stiff and slightly scratchy with starch, and full of the smell of cheap fabric conditioner, but heavenly compared to the state they were in before.

Frank is almost loathe to mess them up, but the big breakfast is settling heavy on his stomach – and not in a good way – and he needs to stretch out. It's nice, listening to the guys moving around, could be like any other Saturday or a long weekend rather than a Monday. Everyone else is in school or work, the world bustling on as normal outside their window and it all seems like a dream or a show on TV. Frank half expects the scene to just dissolve into the next seamlessly.

His stomach has other ideas though and, after occupying the bathroom for a good hour, long enough to force Bob down to the sketchy public toilet in the reception office, it finally settles enough for him to stagger back towards the bed, ignoring Ray's over the top spraying of deodorant and fanning towels at the swiftly closed door. The pain isn't too bad, but damn, this lifestyle is not good for him. Gerard regards him fondly but with a touch of guilt on his face. Waving it off, Frank slumps down beside him and gratefully surrenders his head for light petting and gentle hair stroking.

“I could take off the ribbon,” Gerard offers quietly, hesitating as he drags his fingers along a too long strand. “Heal your stomach a bit, make it easier-”

Snorting, Frank shakes his head and just snuggles deeper into the mattress. “Nope, no deal, 'sides it's my own fault, I know I shouldn't eat that shit but it was just too good. You heal me and what, it's just gonna sit in my system for twice as long, least this way I know it's getting better, right?”

“Even if we have to fumigate the bathroom?” Mikey snarks, his hoodie pulled up over his nose as he stares at his phone. Whether he is texting or just playing a game Frank isn't sure, but doesn't really care as long as it keeps him happy.

“Fuck you, Way, my farts smell like roses and sunshine.”

“Decomposing rose clippings and sunshine warming up a garbage dump, maybe.”

Lacking the energy to move, Frank just closes his eyes and concentrates on Mikey, thinking at him hard, focusing until...

“Ugh, for fuck's sake Frank!”

Chortling with laughter, Frank curls into Gerard's side a little more, opening his eyes again to be greeted with a quizzical look. Shrugging, Frank just grins.

“Seriously, Frank, you little freak, keep your filthy perversions to yourself,” Mikey grumbles, shooting them a withering glare. “Fucker.”

“Yep,” Frank says happily, the P popping in his mouth as he closes his eyes again, just focusing on the soft drag of Gerard's fingers through his hair and along his scalp. Really, this isn't so bad, even his stomach is starting to settle a bit better now. Just a little shut eye couldn't hurt, doze a little and let his body relax, that wouldn't be too bad....

The phone buzzing against his thigh makes Frank jump back to alert consciousness, his stomach still complaining with every gurgle. He's not even sure if he did actually drift off, but the others are watching the TV again, or at least listening as they play, or sketch, or, in Bob's case, try to flip cards from a deck on his bed across the room into the bin, without touching them.

Digging his phone out of his pocket takes far too long with sleep heavy fingers but one glance at the display makes him wince enough for Gerard to notice.

“Frank?”

“It's Nick, I should take this.” Sliding off the bed and stretching, Frank hurriedly stubs his feet into his unlaced sneakers and pulls on a thick hoodie he's not even sure is his before shuffling out the door and onto the small landing outside their room. It's just a swipe of his thumb to answer, but he's almost tempted to let it ring through to voicemail. Almost.

“Frank?” He can just about make out the words over a sudden burst of sound. “What the fuck is going on?”

Frank sighs and presses the phone closer to his ear, trying to hear Nick more clearly even though the distraction, in the form of Brendon yelling in the background, is coming down the phone line itself. “Look, Nick, it's nothing-”

“Nothing? Neither you or Mikey are in school, okay, I figured hangover time. So, I went to your place after school to check on you. Nice new windows by the way, but you should check who you hire next time, they're supposed to remove the old one intact, not smash it.” Frank winces.

“It's just a window-”

“Yeah, your window, in your house, which has a Bryar in it, not your mom. So I figured, maybe I'll go to the comic book shop, surely Gerard knows where his boyfriend or at least his brother is-”

Frank sighs and slouches down against the wall to sit on the cold ground, his fingertips sketching soothing circles over the bare kneecaps poking through his jeans.

“-but no Gerard, he's quit in fact. Charlie told me as he offered me Gerard's job, apparently it was quite sudden and he's really desperate. So, I can't help but wonder Frank, what the fuck kind of trouble are you in?”

“Nick-”

“I warned you, I tried to- Gerard's a nice enough guy, but strange shit happens around him Frank, you need to be careful, you need to try and not get caught up in it!”

Frank can't help the giggle that escapes his lips, even though it is definitely a little hysterical, a little high, but he can't help it, it's just all so funny all of a sudden, and why isn't Nick laughing too? It's hilarious! Frank, not get caught up in it, when it's Frank's fault, Frank's the one who got everyone else caught up in it, Nick would laugh if he understood. Except when Frank tries to tell him the only thing that comes out are more giggles, his eyes streaming even as he rubs the heel of his hands against them.

“Frank?” He can hear more worried discussion in the background, Brendon shouting out useful suggestions that Frank should slap himself. On a whim, Frank tries, whacking his palm against his face but really all it does is smear through the wet tears on his cheeks and set him off laughing even more. “Frank?

It takes him a long time to calm down, too long really, even Frank knows it, trying hard to keep the giggles back and get his breathing under control again, but taking great hiccuping gulps of air isn't helping much. Eventually he quiets, rubbing his face tiredly even as Nick continues to talk down the line, just saying his name and quiet questions, reassurances.

“I'm... I'm okay,” Frank gulps out at last, worn out from his laughter but somehow lighter for it, as though it was a knotted muscle that had been worked loose, or a cold glass of water on a hot day. “Thanks, Nick.”

“I... You're welcome?” Frank chuckles once more at that but the urge to laugh uncontrollably has faded now.

“I'm serious Nick, you're a good friend, you guys... You're all great, you know that, right? If anything... I just want you to know that, okay? You've made school actually kinda fun rather than a living Hell, and I just wanna say thanks for that.”

“Frank, you... You're scaring me now, come on, what's going on? If you're in trouble just tell us, we can help...”

Frank hesitates, gazing up into the overcast sky as the first drops of misty rain start to finally break free of their cloud prison. “I know Nick, I do, and I wish I could tell you but I'm not even sure how to say it myself yet. I just... I'm okay, you have to trust me, I'm okay, I'm with Gerard, and Mikey, and Bob Bryar and Ray Toro are here too. We just had to leave town for a bit, but it's family stuff, we didn't... We didn't break any laws, no one's on drugs or anything like that, we just need to get away from home for a bit.”

“I don't understand, if you didn't do anything wrong then where are you, why-”

“Nick, don't ask me 'cause I can't tell you, okay? I don't even know most of it myself yet, I'm still figuring it out, but I'm safe, my mom is visiting friends for a bit while the window gets fixed, and I'll be back before you know it.” Frank can hear muttering in the background on the line then a snort of laughter from Nick.

“Brendon says if you all make it big as gay porn stars, and don't at least come back with lots of filthy stories to share, he's gonna be pissed at you.”

“Eww! Aw, shit man, that's just wrong!” Frank laughs tiredly, warmth spreading through him even as the drizzling rain starts to cling to his clothes and leave a fine dusting of trapped light over his body. “Can he really imagine Bob Bryar as a gay for pay porn star?”

There is silence on the line for a moment after Nick relays the question then a slightly queasy tone comes into Nick's voice. “I think he just creamed his pants, so I'm gonna take that as a yes.”

“Brendon has a bear kink? Now that's something I never, ever, needed to know,” Frank shudders, then looks up at footsteps approaching and grins as Bob strolls into view, an eyebrow raised questioningly. “Speaking of Bob, he's come to help me get ready for my next hot and wet, barely legal sex scene so I'd better run, but I'll call if I can, okay?”

“You'd better. Take care of yourself, Iero.”

“I always do. See you later, Wheeler.” Ending the call with a flick of his thumb, Frank accepts Bob's hand up and shuffles back to his feet. With good grace, Frank turns his head from side to side at the press of Bob's fingers against his jaw, and tries not to think about how disgustingly tight his skin feels from the dried tears. A small huff is all the mention Bob makes of it as he slings an arm around Frank's shoulders and they walk back to the room. As they approach the door though, Bob stops and turns to look him in the eye.

“For the record, I would be a fucking awesome porn star.” Without waiting for a reply, Bob just carries on into the room, leaving Frank grinning like an idiot.

******************************************

They are quieter the next morning, listening in silence as Ray phones in yet another apology to his boss, promising to be back as soon as he can, and yeah, he knows sick grandmothers aren't covered on his leave and he's gonna have his pay docked, of course, but as he needs to look after his sister too... The stirring of guilt in Frank's gut matches that in Gerard's, if the look on his face is anything to go by, but they all stay silent and just wait until Ray hangs up the call and gets back into bed. There's no point rushing to get up, no tardy bell to avoid or clocking in to do.

It's strange, Frank had always thought it would be fun to have nothing to do all day, nowhere to go, no timetable or plans dragging him down but this... This was just getting boring, fast. Even hanging out with the guys wasn't as much fun after four stressful then mind numbing days. They had no games consoles, no DVD's, not even a decent cable package to amuse themselves, and no privacy whatsoever.

Which would be easier to cope with if he wasn't sharing a bed with his boyfriend. And would be a lot less creepy if his boyfriend's brother wasn't in there too.

Frank slides out of the bed as stealthily as he can, which is kinda pointless as Gerard is blatantly awake, and Mikey goes between awake and sleep of the dead, nothing in between, so if he isn't awake now nothing Frank will do will make a difference. Still, the stealth is only half for their benefit.

Hiding his morning wood as best he can, Frank hobbles into the bathroom as he tries to get blood back into his left leg. Seriously, three to a bed is a lot less fun when there's actual sleeping involved and Mikey's a sprawler. Locking the flimsy bolt behind him, Frank peers into the mirror over the basin, ignoring the slight cracks around the edge and layer of dust caught between the frame and wall. His face is too pale as always, the shadows under his eyes an attractive shade of grey today, no doubt from his stomach misbehaving the day before.

At least the scars on his neck are still paling, far less obvious as finger marks now, more like a weird sunburn perhaps, or a bad attempt at foundation. (Okay, so yes, he's played with makeup before, woohoo.) Stripping off his t-shirt and sleep pants, he considers his naked body as best he can, tracking each bruises' progress with a critical consideration, mentally rating them for size, colour, and if they still hurt when he pokes them. His knee doesn't even twinge after Gerard had healed it for him, but the colourful bruises weren't worth the energy to deal with. Bruises he can handle, he's had enough practice.

There's barely even a layer of stubble on his chin, dammit, but at least he doesn't look twelve. Flicking on the shower, Frank waits for it to warm up and gathers the few bits he needs from around the tiny room. They're already making a dent on their toiletry supplies, the shampoo half empty already (that has to be Ray, seriously, the guy is more hair than man some days), and the cheap bar of soap’s maybe a centimetre thick now. More than enough for now though, and Frank stretches as the sound of the water changes subtly, marking the arrival of the warmth.

Stepping under the spray, Frank sighs happily and lets it wash over his head, dripping from the ends of his hair and dragging it down over his forehead in a curtain. He doesn't have long, maybe ten minutes before someone will be banging at the door, so he works fast, scrubbing a handful of shampoo through his hair before lathering up the soap for a quick but mostly efficient wash.

With five minutes left to spare, Frank looks down at his still present, if slightly flagging, erection and decides that fuck it, if he's expected to do this whole Little House on the Prairie bed sharing shit much longer he needs a little down time to take the edge off. Just a little.

There's no hesitation in his movements, no teasing, just a firm grip and the pumping of his own fist around his cock, efficiency key right now, there will be time for leisurely foreplay another time. With Gerard, preferably. And an empty room, not one shared with three other dudes, maybe back in Gerard's basement, locked away and hidden from prying eyes and listening ears.

Like before.

The memory of it, stolen hours and lazy make out sessions, the taste of Gerard on his tongue, the feel of Gerard's hands on his skin, tracing down his chest, along his hips, sliding in to grasp him-

Frank comes almost unexpectedly, biting his lip hard as he spills over his fingers and into the running water, evidence vanishing as soon as it appears. Damn, he didn't even get to the good part in his head, let alone in reality, and he's coming like a fucking horny teenager.

Which, if he's honest with himself, he is, but still, way to live up to the stereotype.

Shaking his hand under the spray, Frank takes a moment to make sure he's cleaned up properly, one more swipe of soap over his skin (and a good rinse of the bar afterwards, or he's sure Ray will actually kill him, he's already given the Good Bathroom Habits lecture three times in four days), and he's done.

The towel is too thin, too stiff, but it works and that's all that matters as Frank hastily dries himself off before stepping back into his sleep pants and wrapping the towel over his shoulders to catch his still dripping hair. Unbolting the door, he tries not to jump as he opens it only to find Ray's face glaring at him.

“You'd better have rinsed the soap off after you-”

Make that four times for the lecture.


	6. Chapter 6

“Huh.”

Frank looks up from his place on the floor opposite Ray, Tarot cards spread out between them but rather than being laid out for a reading, they are engaged in a bizarre and actually quite difficult game of snap. His inattention lets Ray yell out triumphantly and slam his hand down on the desk, claiming most of Frank's cards in one go.

“Aww fuck. That's not fair, Mikey distracted me.”

“Mikey said huh, I would've thought your boyfriend being naked and wet in the next room would've been more distracting than that.”

“Eww,” Mikey says quietly, his eyes still fixed on his phone as he perches in the armchair. Frank had been worried at first about how apart from the group Mikey kept, usually scrunched up in the faded armchair with his feet tucked onto the edge like a bird, or sprawled over one of the arms. Of course, sleeping six hours a night in a small bed with two other guys was starting to make even Frank a little less touchy feely so God only knew how Mikey and his all-seeing brain was coping. “Enough.”

“You started it,” Frank says accusingly.

“How did you make me saying 'huh' into my fault that we're suddenly talking about my brother and your sick and twisted imagination?”

Grinning, Frank sprawls out over the scattered cards and lies on the floor to look up at Mikey from under his eyelashes. “You know you love my sick and twisted imagination really.”

Stretching out his legs, Mikey rests his feet on Frank’s chest, pinning him to the floor, but still otherwise ignoring him in favor of his phone. “Shhh. Reading.”

“Not the My Little Pony fanfic again Mikey, seriously, that shit is just wrong-” Frank chokes on a laugh as Mikey digs his heels in.

“Email from Nick. Apparently we're the talk of the school.”

“Okay, hands up anyone here for whom that's a new experience.” Frank laughs as Ray sticks a hand up in the air with a shy smile. “Seriously?”

“Youngest of seven brothers, and I'm the good one,” Ray shrugs, “not much to talk about.”

“Trust me, you're not missing much. So, what juicy gossip has Nick got then? Are we wanted fugitives? Have we got a slot on American Idol, or enlisted in the army?”

“Drugs.”

Bob snorts from the bed, his hand stretched out towards their door Magneto style as the flimsy security hook swings clumsily back and forth.

“Oooh, are we all at the Betty Ford clinic then?”

“Pretty much, either on the run 'cause we're drug dealers or in rehab. Depends on who they're talking about as to where the money goes. Apparently Frank and me are in rehab, Bob and Ray are dealers, and mom and dad grow it using their herbal range as a cover.”

Ray laughs and shakes his head. “Yeah, 'cause if I smoked the stuff you'd all know about it.” At Frank's blank look his wiggles his head. “The hair. Took days to get the smoke from the garden out, you really think pot's gonna just wash and go?”

“Stupid rumours, beats being a gay pedo rapist, so I'm still one up on my old school.”

“It's not just the school though,” Mikey says slowly. “Brendon was apparently up at the Haunted House last night-”

“Why-” Bob starts but Frank just sighs and shakes his head.

“Never ask with Brendon.”

“- up at the Haunted House and he pretty much had to sneak out the back door when the cops pulled up. He watched them for a bit and it looked like they were searching the place, apparently when they left they had a couple of those plastic evidence bags with cigarette ends in them.”

Frank frowns up at the stained ceiling and even he has to admit that sounds bad.

“And apparently Charlie got questioned as well, it's just the local cops so nothing too heavy but apparently they've had a tip off so they have to look into it. At least that's what Joey Walker says.”

“Joey who?”

“8th grader, Jon's brother.”

“Jon...?”

“Point is,” Ray interrupts quickly, really not wanting to get dragged into the who's who hierarchy of their little town, “that's kinda worrying, especially if they stick their noses into the collective's homes. I mean, _nearly_ all the spell ingredients are legal, only a couple are, y'know, a bit iffy-”...

Gerard chooses that moment to emerge from the bathroom, a towel tied up in a turban on his head and fully dressed except for his bare feet peeking out from under his sweats.

“What's iffy?”

“Drugs.”

“Oh.” Gerard looks round the room. “We got any? 'Cause keep that shit away from Bert, please, he's doing enough of a train wreck on me as it is.”

Mikey just rolls his eyes.

******************************************

It's strange the things that run out first, Frank reflects grimly. They'd thought their packed bags would be perfect, the right balance of clothes and things to keep them going for a couple of weeks. What they hadn't counted on was Frank's mud wrestling, Gerard bleeding all over one of his outfits, and the fact that everything that they had been wearing the night in the garden not only stank of smoke but had never quite dried out properly so was all starting to smell a little funky. Not to mention, the complete failure to grab a proper coat each, meaning they all had to wear most of their clothes at once to stay warm if they left the room.

Locating the laundromat hadn’t been too hard. Getting enough change to run the machines, okay, easy. Figuring out how to work them, well, luckily Bob and Ray had enough familiarity with that to work out the settings, and Bob had a whole host of tricks for pre-treating the dried in blood on Gerard's clothes. Even Mikey could figure out how to separate out the dark from light clothing and those they could safely put through a hot wash and those they couldn't.

Which left Frank mostly on Gerard-sitting duty, which could have been fun, it he'd actually been Gerard.

“So, is this some new tactic?” Bert lay down along the length of the hard wooden bench and stared up at the ceiling, his tied hands hidden safely in the pouch of one of Gerard's hoodies, bound out of sight through the loop of fabric. “Bore me back to death? 'Cause I gotta say, I've literally seen corpses with more life than you guys. I mean seriously, come on, all the world's your plaything and you're doing your laundry? Woot, way to live the dream boys.”

“You can leave any time you want, Bert. Just leave Gee's body behind, and don't let the coffin door hit you on the way out.”

“Ah, humour, see, this is worth sticking around for a bit. A bit anyway, I mean this is fucking boring, worse than that TV shit. Come on, can't we go somewhere or do something? Seriously, I'll behave.”

Frank snorts, and spares a look at where Bob is scrubbing the sleeve of Gerard's hoodie, the soap turning pink from the blood. “Behave, right.”

Following his gaze, Bert lets his head roll back on the bench and sighs. “Seriously, you're gonna hold that against me? You were trying to kill me.”

“You're already dead, dumbass, we were just trying to make it stick this time.”

“Oh, yeah, like that makes it better.” Sighing again, this time with extra melodrama and a dash of boredom, Bert shifts his bound wrists inside the hoodie pocket and wriggles on the hard bench. “No lasting harm done, to either of us,” he adds slyly, “just so you know. Although I hear the old hag took a tumble, Gee's all cut up about that by the way. You'd think it was just that Catholic guilt thing, if it wasn't actually just that he really does have a way of fucking up everyone around him.”

“Shut up,” Frank grabs an abandoned magazine off the side and feigns interest in the ridiculous pictures of wannabe celebrities even as Bert twists onto his side to stare.

“You can't see it? Really? The trail of victims he blames himself for? The football team? His Mom? Me, yeah, he really fucked me over, in all ways, and now his nan, who's next? You? Maybe Mikey will take a tumble, break something more serious than a leg this time, or shall we see if Ray's hair is a good enough crash helmet-”

A slap on his shoulder makes Frank jump, until he looks up and sees Ray standing over him. “Bob wants to teach you the fine art of laundry, so go, learn at the feet of the master, oh young Padawan. I'll keep motormouth company.”

Scrambling up, Frank tries not to let the relief show on his face as he scurries away, hearing Bert start up again behind him even as Ray picks up the magazine and starts talking over him, reading out the inane articles in a mocking falsetto. It's a good thing the place is so empty, the steamed up windows hiding the street outside and turning the world into vague shadows and blurs of colour even as the air inside stays warm and heavy with the smell of soap.

“You okay?” Bob asks quietly, even as he hands him a pair of mud encrusted socks that make him want to gag. “Looked like you were gonna start smacking him round the head with a copy of Vogue.”

“No more than usual.” Frank looks at the socks as he holds them at arm's length. “Seriously, can't I just throw these in the machine and be done with it?”

“Hmm? Oh those, yeah, course you can. Just wanted to make sure you actually touched some of your own fucking mess.” Flipping Bob off with one hand, Frank flings the disgusting socks into the machine and shakes his head.

“I hate you guys.”

***************************************

Cleaning their clothes takes the better part of a day, just sitting around reading and watching the machines spin, but it's a break from the motel room, and how bad is Mikey's life that he's actually grateful to be in a space bigger (and better smelling) than that one room? He doesn't go near Bert though, keeping securely at least one row of machines over from him at all times and trying very hard not to hear the way his voice carries.

It's so like Gerard's voice, IS Gerard's voice, but so very wrong it sends shivers up his spine. For a little while it was possible to forget, to think that it had been an overreaction and a bad dream, but that voice brings it right back again. The feeling of the spell growing, the pain of the heat washing over them-

The sight of Gerard's hands, covered in blood-

The slashes in his wrists, open and slowly pulsing out his life-

“You okay?”

Mikey jumps at the nudge to his side and nods quickly, a reflex action rather than an honest response. Frank doesn't look as though he's buying it, but is at least discreet enough to just gloss over it.

“Nearly done now, Bob says the last couple of loads are nearly dry and is gonna need a hand folding shit again soon. Seriously, never would've pegged him for the hospital corners kind of guy.” Mikey frowns as he looks over at Bob.

“Isn't that for beds? Think you mean military precision.”

“Hospitals, army, all the same thing, trust me, I've met some nurses who would give Generals a run for their money. Strict folding there, I get, but in a son of a werewolf, seems a bit much.”

“For a telekinetic it makes perfect sense to know exactly how things are sorted,” Bob grumbles, glaring up from his neat stack of t-shirts. “Wouldn't kill you to have a little precision in your life every now and then, Iero. So either put up and do some work, or shut up.”

“Touchy,” Frank grins, pulling his foot up onto the bench and tucking his leg up tight against his chest, arm wrapped around it. “Hey, maybe you missed your true calling, Bob, you should be-”

Frank never gets a chance to say what Bob should be, as a slightly confused shout from Bert grabs their attention. “Hey, motherfuckers, uh, I think Ray-Ray got himself hypnotised by a fucking tumble dryer-”

Leaping up from the bench, Mikey hurries past Bob's neat folding and round the corner, skidding to a halt in front of where Ray is, indeed, staring intently into a tumble dryer, as though fascinated by the sight of pants spinning round. “What did you do to him?” Mikey asks quickly, not even sparing Bert a look, trusting Bob to have him under control (which he does, of course, one invisible hand on Bert pinning him to the bench even before the physical ones are in range.)

“Oh, charming, instantly it's my fault. Guy can't even lie on a bench without being accused now-”

“Mikey, he's in a trance,” Frank whispers quietly, taking up position on the other side of Ray. “He must be seeing something, I don't... You wanna wake him?”

“I dunno, it might be important, I... Let me try reading him.”

“You sure that's a good idea?” Shrugging, Mikey reaches out hesitantly and places a hand on Ray's shoulder and gasps.

“Mikey?” Frank reacts on instinct, reaching out to grab Mikey's free hand even as he starts to shake Ray to bring him out of it but Mikey isn't aware of that until the loop is completed and oh, fuck-

_She's singing again, just humming out loud but in her head the song is loud and blocking out the boredom and the ache in her feet from too long standing and walking around with her cart. It's been a long morning already, the sun rising long after she has, but it could be worse. The money is okay, and it gets her home before the kids are out of school so she gets to enjoy the babble about their day before they crash and need feeding again._

_Just a few more rooms to go, then on to the last stop of the day. The next one has a do not disturb sign on, and she sighs, muttering to herself about teenage boys and their inability to keep anything clean, and really, how do they expect her to do her job if they leave that sign up all the time? It's not like they could do anything worse than she'd already seen before, thank you very much._

_The next room is newly rented, but the sign is up inviting her in so she parks the trolley outside, picks up her towels and knocks before letting herself in. The room is still fairly clean, most things neatly packed away, just a scattering of papers on the small table and a couple of sets of trousers hanging on the rail giving away that there is anyone still here._

_It doesn't take long to make the bed, replace a discarded towel in the bathroom and run her duster over the surfaces. A glass has been left next to the papers, a small damp ring revealed by lifting it up that she quickly wipes clear, but the edge of her cloth catches on the corners, shifting them on the desk, and a small face catches her eye._

_It's a page of yearbook photos, but one has been circled, a young man with an impish grin and two slight flicks of hair sticking out from an otherwise neat trim and creating what almost looks like a set of animal ears or maybe horns. The smile catches her eye first though, familiar to her somehow-_

_Another sheet is under it and, curious, she sneaks a peek, frowning at the sight of another circled face, round and with unflattering parted curtains of a fringe, but still exasperating familiar, especially alongside the first, the memory on the tip of her tongue..._

_A clatter of feet in the hallway bring her attention back to her job and she quickly grabs the glass, hurrying back out to her trolley to switch it for another even as the five boys from the room down the hall get back, politely giving her plenty of room even as they hoist bags of what she really hopes are clean clothes back into their room. As the last one holds the door open for the others he gives her a grin before he heads in and she smiles back as she places it. That's where she's seen him before, the boy in the photo is staying here too._

_The smile fades as the door closes behind them and she shakes her head before returning to her duties. Oh dear, if someone is looking for these boys who knows what sort of trouble they might be bringing back to the Motel with them? Drugs? Guns? Maybe it's not such a bad thing they won't let her clean after all..._

“Aww fuck,” Frank says as he lets go, snapping back out of the connection and dropping to his knees even as Mikey sways and grabs onto the machines to steady himself. Ray on the other hand just blinks, slowly and steadily, muttering under his breath as he leans out a hand to touch the metal, grounding himself. “Fuck.”

“What is it,” Bob asks quickly, even as he starts looking around the laundromat as though cataloguing potential threats and where all their stuff is. “What did you see?”

“Trouble,” Ray says simply. “Big trouble.”

Bert just shrugs at Bob and grins. “I didn't do it.”

**************************************

“How long do you think we have?” Bob mutters as they climb the stairs back up to their room, bags hefted over their backs and slightly furtive looks being cast around. “I mean, yeah, we've got laundry now, but who's to say we don't do laundry again next week-”

Frank stops dead as he sees the maid's cart parked up two rooms away from theirs and shakes his head. “Not next week. Look.”

“Shit.”

“Yep.” Frank hangs back after they scoot past the trolley, the maid emerging from the other room giving him a smile as he grabs the door to let the guys into the room. Smiling back, he watches closely and yep, that's it, that's recognition right there...

Ducking into the room, Frank lets the door close behind him even as the others leap into action, quickly transferring the laundry filled bags to the bed and using whatever space is left to gather up their things from around the room, Bob's cards and toothbrush becoming Identified Flying Objects as they head for his bag of their own accord. Bert is shoved down onto the bed to watch the flurry of activity with a bemused grin, but Frank hesitates, moving towards the bathroom on instinct before stopping short and turning back to the bed to gather Gerard's things together as he isn't going to be in any fit state to do it for a while.

Packing up the rest of their things continues at a fast pace even as they try to plan out what to do, Mikey camping out in the armchair by the window with the curtains twitched back a little to watch over the whole corridor with his eyes, and further if he concentrates. It takes them barely ten minutes to get most of their gear shoved haphazardly back into bags, although there seems to be more to pack than there had been when they set off.

When done, and with Mikey watching out, Bob, as probably the least distinctive of the group, starts out with a load of bags, grumbling under his breath the whole way but making good time. Meanwhile, Gerard has been... Less than helpful as he was still Bert. And Bert was having a ball.

“So seriously, you are gonna what, just run away in that heap of a van? Get your Scooby Doo groove on and skedaddle out the door? Why don't you just wait, grab the guy, rip his mask off and find out he was really the caretaker all along?”

“Y'know, Gerard would be a lot more useful right now, so anytime you want to slip back into nothingness, feel free.” Frank takes his frustration out on his bag, punching his last freshly laundered top into it with extra zeal.

“Why the hell should I leave now, you guys are finally doing something interesting for the first time in days!” Bert sprawls out on the bed again and bounces up and down, almost toppling Frank off the edge and making him plant a foot on the floor to stop himself from falling.

“You get a hard on for packing? Freak,” Frank mutters, zipping his bag up and tossing it into the small pile by the door for Bob. It's a little scary quite how settled in they had gotten in just a week, extra luxuries and food haphazardly stuffed into every spare space.

“It's more exciting than watching you eat, did anyone ever tell you you have one seriously fucked up diet?”

“No shit.”

“Exactly, surprised you can actually take a solid dump, amount of green shit and fucking tofu-”

“Okay, that's everything,” Ray says, coming out of the bathroom with a bag of toiletries slung over his wrist. “We're clear, we can leave any time.”

“Awesome, so, where to? Vegas? Can we go to Vegas, Ray-Ray, pretty please?”

“Shut up, Bert.” With a heavy sigh, Ray starts loading himself up with bags, and at his signal the others follow suit, except for Bert who bounces on the bed again and plays with the ribbon on his wrist, even through he is unable to untie it one handed. “Bob on his way back?”

“Yeah,” Mikey says quietly. “He's just paying off the bill.”

“Cool, we should head out straight away. Get some distance between us.”

“To where?” Frank says, shrugging to himself. “I mean, should we aim for somewhere or just go for another motel?”

“I guess another motel will do. Just drive until we feel far enough away and then stop. Not like there's a shortage of them.”

Bob comes back into the room, a scowl on his face, and a clinging breath of cold air around him sweeping in like a physical presence. “We all set here?”

“Bobby B!” Bert yells from the bed, bouncing up and down. “Take me now, or lose me forever, baby!”

Rolling his eyes, Ray nods and hands over a bag of food to Bob. “We're good, we gonna hit the road and find somewhere else then?”

“Yeah, still no sign of our not so friendly neighbour?” Mikey shakes his head. “Good. Let's go, we'll let the folks know we've moved on once we're settled. Bert, you gonna give me any trouble or we gonna need to gag you again?”

“Mmm you know I like it when you talk rough baby, yeah, smack me around a little.” At the glares from the whole group, Bert sighs and rolls to his feet. “Fine, okay, I'll behave.”

“Like you know the meaning of the word.” Throwing a bag at Bert, Ray takes one last look around the room and nods. “Let's go.”

*****************************************************

Frank is staring morosely out the windshield of the van, on a break from Bert sitting duty to actually sit up front, when he sees it. They're stopped at lights, nothing that unusual, the traffic idling as they wait for their turn but it's the white bike that catches his eye. It's leaned up against the rail by the crosswalk, a bike painted white with a small bunch of wilting flowers still tied to the handlebars.

The figure beside it looks almost solid in the daylight, arms crossed as the man leans against the bike, his dark lycra clothes occasionally going a little transparent and showing the glow of white metalwork and spokes through them. He has a small smile on his face directed at the woman walking across the road, a buggy in front of her and tiredness etched into her features and in the slope of her shoulders. As they approach the bike her face crumples, just for a second, and she reaches out to touch the brake lever, her hand passing through the figure of the man. He moves to copy her, his hand resting over hers and as Frank looks she seems to glow for a second, just a flash of something.

The lights change and as the van starts to move again, Frank twists to watch her walk on, but something in her posture has changed, her face somehow more alert, her walk upright again. The ghost vanishes with a blink and the woman is taken from his view as Bob accelerates away again.

 

*****************************************************

The next motel is a bit shabbier, the room a bit smaller, but after a few hours in the chilly van it's a luxury just to be able to stretch and use the bathroom. It's also near an auto shop, where Bob manages to negotiate to get a full respray booked in for the van, starting the next day. As fun as the psychedelic camouflage paintwork is, it is definitely conspicuous, and by now they've all decided it must have given them away. The respray isn't cheap though, plus the motel doesn't have family rooms so they’re paying out for two twins rather than one big room for a few days, leading to Ray and Bob sitting down with one of Gerard's notebooks and all their spare cash dumped out onto the mattress.

“We broke yet?” Frank asks at last, fidgeting on the floor even as Mikey patiently plaits a smudge stick to cleanse the room in the hope it will help improve their luck .

“No, 'course not,” Ray says tiredly, “we just hadn't budgeted for the van spray, and food's a bit more than we figured. We just need to be a bit more careful is all. And maybe hit the ATM's while on the road rather than when we stop, and use cash the rest of the time, easier to keep track of.”

“If you're short on cash, I got an idea!” Nobody looks up at where Bert is sitting in the corner, upside down, his legs straight up and kicking against the wall. “You keep teasing me with this bondage shit and not getting me any action, how about we get me some fun and you guys some cash at the same time?”

“Shut the fuck up, Bert, there is no way we are pimping out Gee's body, you sick fuck.” Frank throws a smudge stick at him, which Bert catches and holds against his lips like a fat cigar. “It won't be for much longer anyway, and then I'm sticking an eviction notice on you.”

“Oooo you gonna come in here and get me then little boy? Dig in deep and root me out-” Bob gestures and Bert grins as a pillow flies across the room to smack into his head. “Oh come on, you guys suck at showing a guy a good afterlife, you know that right?”

“Can I gag him again? Please?” Ray asks, looking at Mikey, but Mikey just shrugs and checks his phone yet again. It's becoming an ever present fixture in his hands, yet when Frank thinks of it, he hasn't heard it beep or vibrate for a while.

“Look, all kidding aside, we need to be careful with the cash, not like we have a vast amount of savings anyway, and all mine went on the van, and I really don't want us to have to call home after a week just to beg for cash, especially if the cops are around.” Bob looks up from the notebook and sighs. “Who wants to quit smoking first?”

Bert looks up from the corner, a look of panic on his face. “Okay, Gee says that had better be a joke, and I second him, okay?”

Snorting, Frank nods. “Finally, something we can agree on.”

***********************************************

“Is it just me, or have we had an excess of Bert over the last day or two?” 

Bob nods, leaning heavily against the railing next to Frank and watching his cigarette smoke curl up through the air. “You’re savouring that right?”

Rolling his eyes, Frank nods and takes a long drag on his cigarette before pointedly holding it in before blowing it out slowly. “Every fucking one, seriously, rationing smokes is just cruel and unusual punishment.”

Grinning, Bob turns back to gaze out over the run down parking lot of their motel. “Necessary though. And yeah, you’re right, but that could just be Gerard being tired. We should change his ribbon tonight though, just in case. I’ll get Ray to help me-”

“Show me how to do it?” 

Bob looks round in surprise and shrugs. “Sure, didn’t think you’d want to though, it’s, well, Gee…”

Sighing, Frank runs a hand over his face tiredly. “Yeah, but more importantly it’s Bert too, and I want to get that fucker out of him more than I feel a bit off about tying him up. ‘Sides, it doesn’t hurt him, right?”

“Course not, but it can be a bit uncomfortable, that’s all.” At Frank’s questioning look, Bob considers. “Gerard is… Always on, he can always feel people around him, not to the extreme of Mikey, but he can feel people around him, and always has to work to control his powers, it’s not as much as a strain as Mikey or Ray have, but still, it’s part of him. And binding, it stops him doing harm but it’s gonna block all his powers to an extent, blind him really. Like having a dead arm or something like that. You can adjust easily, but it’s annoying.”

“More annoying than Bert?”

Snorting, Bob shakes his head. “Nope. Few things in life are that annoying.”

“Seriously, how did you even become friends with a guy like that, I mean, he’s just, I don’t know, such a, a, a…”

“Dick?”

“That’s one word for it…”

“You’re seeing the worst of him, seriously, Bert was a dick when he drank, as is Gerard sometimes if you hadn’t noticed, but he could be a really funny guy, really loyal and just…” Letting his head drop down towards his chest, Bob looks as though a weight has dropped on him. “He was a good friend.”

“You miss him.”

“Shit, Frank, ‘course I do, but seeing him like this, just a fraction of the guy I actually knew, just the worst bits, it’s…” Frank places his arm across Bob’s back, and rubs it gently. 

“It sucks.”

 

“And blows.” Dragging his head up again, Bob leans against Frank. “Not to mention, he reminds me of just how fucking dumb I was at that age-” Laughing, Frank leans back, resting his head on Bob’s shoulder. “No, seriously, some of the shit we used to get up to, we thought we were so cool, fuck, it’s a good thing you go for older guys, ‘cause if you’d known him back then no way you’d’ve gone for him-”

“Fuck you Bryar, our love is more than skin deep, I am attracted to his gorgeous mind, his art, his humour-”

“His ass-”

“-his ass, I mean, that’s a given, come on, have you seen that thing? And his hands, oh, my, God…”

“His inability to shower-”

“- that one I could maybe do without, I mean, don’t get me wrong, he isn’t, like, hobo bad, but really, more than once a week is more normal, right?”

“For most mere mortals, but this is Gerard, he’s special…”

Sighing goofily, Frank nods and checks what’s left of his cigarette. “Yeah, he is.” Deciding to save the rest, he pinches it off and shrugs. “And I want him back. So come on, let’s go get kinky.”

“Seriously Iero, you think a bit of rope bondage is kinky, better stay out of my basement.”

“Amen to that.” 

***************************************************

Gerard returns later that evening, the change of ribbon working or Bert finally getting bored enough to let go of him at last, it doesn’t matter. After Frank helps him to the bed in their room, Gerard stares around him in confusion.

“What the... How long was I out?”

“Only about half a day, a lot's happened.”

“Where is everyone?” Frank grins and points to the wall.

“Room next door, this motel doesn't cater for our type.”

Gerard smiles sleepily. “Gays?”

“Groups.” Frank shifts on the bed and runs a hand over Gerard's chest slowly. “How you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“A new skin, mine's feeling kinda stretched.” Letting out a long, deep breath, Gerard closes his eyes as though bracing himself. “So, what did we fuck up this time?”

It takes a while for Frank to bring him up to date, all the time rubbing soothing circles over Gerard's limbs, as though trying to spread life back into him just with a touch. It's not that Gerard isn't a great listener, even when he interrupts his questions are good and relevant, but it takes a while to get through the whole thing right up to that moment.

“...so now we're in a new motel, we have an actual budget thing on the go, thanks to Ray, who says Mikey eats too much, but we knew that already. We have two rooms which is awesome in terms of space and smell, plus two bathrooms, wonderful, but not so great for budget so we can only stay here a few days while the van gets done then it's on the road again.”

“Okay,” Gerard says slowly, taking it in, but Frank can see the slight freak out building behind his eyes anyway. “So no bigger plan yet, and we were sleeping two doors away from WitchFinders. No big deal, nope, just my worst childhood nightmare coming real, fabulous.”

“You had nightmares about men in bad jackets? You? Mr 'doodles Freddy Kreuger for kicks, and spends his time working out how to make jocks shit their shorts', afraid of the fashion police?”

“What? No, don't be ridiculous, that's completely different, but WitchFinders, they're like... I don't know what the equivalent is for muggles, but come on, a secret society dedicated to making your life Hell and kidnapping small witch kids, that's gonna mess with your head as a rugrat, right?”

Shifting to lie completely on his side beside Gerard, one hand still lazily tracing patterns over his stomach, Frank shrugs a little against the fist propping up his head. “I guess. But I'm not very good at letting people fuck with my head so don't really feel it.”

“They chased you, they broke into your home and chased you, Frank they tried to-”

“Oh yeah, no totally, scary as Hell, not denying that!” Frank says quickly, lifting his hand up to stall Gerard. “Don't get me wrong, really, right up there in the top ten most fucked up moments of my life for sure, but they're... They're just men, people, regular people, you know? And I am sick and tired of being scared of them, there's nothing they can do to me-” Frank breaks off with a small smile and rests his hand over Gerard's chest, relaxing into the warmth of him even as Gerard's bound wrist rests alongside Frank’s, fingers tentatively reaching out to interlace.

“I'm not scared of anything any person can do to me, Gee, but the thought of what's inside you-”

It's a gentle surge of movement, no hesitation but no mad rush either, just a slow shift of bodies together as Gerard leans in to kiss the words away, his hand sliding up to hold onto Frank's face, the ribbon an alternate tickle and rasp against his unshaven throat that's easily ignored. When they finally part, they are both breathing hard as Gerard rests his forehead against Frank's with a sigh.

“Frankie, I'm sorry, I can't-”

“Hey it's cool, look, stopped, we've stopped.” Shifting to put more space between them, Frank smiles. “It's cool, we cool?”

“Fuck,” Gerard groans, throwing an arm over his face and rolling over away from Frank. “It's not- It's not you Frank, believe me, it's not, it's...”

“It's not you, it's me?”

“Nope, not me either,” Gerard laughs bitterly. “Dammit Frank, I want to, believe me, I want to, this is fucking torture for me too to be so close to you and still-” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper even as Frank trails fingertips over the planes of his back through the layers of his clothes. “I can feel him under my skin, I can hear him, like a fucked up Tim Burton version of Jiminy Cricket sitting on my shoulder and I don't- I won't let him-”

“Won't let him what, Gee?”

“Won't let him hurt you again Frank, I can't risk it, I can't stand the thought of him touching you...”

“Ditto,” Frank shudders back, shaking his head. “Yeuch.”

“Yeuch?” Gerard mimics, rolling back over with a mock pout on his face. “Hey, it's still my body, yeuch is a bit harsh!”

“Ah, but I'm with you for your beautiful braaaaaaains,” Frank says, scrambling on the bed and wrestling his way on top of Gerard, pinning him down and wriggling until Frank is half straddling him. “Braaaaaaaains, Gee, I want to suck your braaaaains out.”

“Now there's an offer I'd love to take you up on,” Gerard says with a low groan. “Fuck, Frankie.”

“But instead, I can offer you snuggles, instant ramen, and very, very basic cable.”

Closing his eyes, Gerard sighs. “Chicken or beef?”

“Chilli. And for the record, all making out offers expire once you start eating, to resume only after you've brushed your teeth. But, if you're very lucky, I may cuddle your brains out for dessert...”

***************************************

Mikey is silent and still in the bed, staring up at the ceiling, even as Ray and Bob finish puttering around the room and putting their final elements of protection in place. It's not much, almost certainly as effective as hanging up garlic, but they want to try nonetheless. The waft of smoke from the smudge stick Bob has floating over their heads and hovering around the single bulb of the lamp like a oversized moth is trailing down into the room, falling like water over the bed rather than rising.

The smell is comforting though, reminiscent of a thousand childhood spells and the ever present cling of sage smoke on Nonna's clothes or his mom's coat. If he closes his eyes and just listens to the gentle sound of Ray's voice, whispering soft incantations into the chill of the room he could almost pretend he is home, safe, secure-

It's strange, Gerard is the one suffering, Frank is the one being hunted, they are the ones who should be scared but instead Mikey can feel them at the edge of his mind in the next room. Frank's fearless, a bright blaze of strength and fire even with all this. It isn't that he doesn't believe they can get hurt, far from it, he knows all too well how shit life can get. It's more an inability to let it surface, to let it cloud the moment. It's beautiful really.

And Mikey hates it. Hates that Frank is so strong, hates the Gerard is so stoic through all this, hates that Ray is coping with a homesickness that is cutting deep into his soul without complaint, hates that Bob is constantly on edge, never settled, yet still in control and never letting on how lost he feels...

He hates it. Them. Everything.

Himself.

He's too cold, too tired, too stretched thin, too scared, so fucking scared, for Gerard, for himself, for their family, for his friends, but most of all of the strange space that is Bert fucking McCracken. The longer he is 'present' the more Mikey can feel him, wriggling around inside the soothing blank void that is Gerard, a laughing cloud of thought without form even when Gerard is in control. He is always there, and growing stronger, and some nights, when it's dark, Mikey can almost feel Bert reaching out across the shadows and pressing against his mind, probing, testing, coming for him-

The shudder that runs through him is too much, too big, and it won't stop until he's shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering in his head and mind shutting down from the white light of fear, bright inside his eyeballs. He knows Ray and Bob are there, can hear them, but it's not enough, it's nothing, nothing matters, he's already dead...

He comes back to himself feeling cold but simultaneously boiling hot, surrounded by heat and comfort, arms trapping him in a sandwich between his friends. They are not speaking, not out loud; their minds are singing to him, soft and gentle, a melody he has to strain to hear but it is working, forcing him to control his breaths, to stop the chattering to listen more closely. It's a rhythm being tapped against his skin by their fingertips, it's a hum held tight within throats, but it's familiar.

Mikey doesn't know how they know, but it's one of the songs Gerard used to sing to him when he was freaking out when he first got his powers. He would sit there, all night, just humming and singing and making up lyrics, keeping Mikey company without the need for thought or words or sense.

It's safe.

With one final shudder, Mikey finally goes limp and quiet in their arms, his face wet where it is buried against Ray's shoulder.

“S-Sorry.”

He can feel rather than see the exasperated but fond smile on Ray's face, but the hand tussling his hair is definitely Bob's. They don't say anything, just roll him back into the bed and position themselves on either side of him, steady sentinels to watch over him.

It's not home, but it's family, and that's close enough.

Closing his eyes, Mikey finally sleeps.

**************************************

The paint job on the van is bland, boring, nondescript, and exactly what they need to blend in. Doesn't stop Bob from bitching about how much they overcharged him, and the shitty job they did, and ugh, where did they learn to spray, seriously...

Loading back in again doesn't take long, all of them slightly better rested for a couple of nights in separate rooms allowing for a modicum of privacy, or at least two less people snoring to listen to. Mikey had crashed with Bob and Ray the first night, then back in with Frank and Gee after that, resuming his role as gooseberry. Not that they had gotten up to anything the first night in any case. Nope.

Just a seriously frustrating morning and a furiously cold shower.

Still, the van is blue, bland, and reassuring, and they load up quickly, Bob and Ray in the front seats and the others in the back. A couple of meandering hours on the road and it's another motel, another family sized room, and another tedious afternoon of bad chat shows and depressing ad breaks. There's no real news from home, Tori definitely complaining about not being allowed back and, for once, Ray sympathises with her. It should be safe soon...

… Except there's a new substitute teacher at the High School who seems very interested in the Way family history, and that of a few of the other older families in the town. As Nick puts it, he also dresses way too good for a teacher and just screams some sort of undercover cop.

Still, it has to blow over soon, they keep reassuring each other. It can't be long now and they can just go home, figure out a way to sort out Gerard's little problem, and they can go back to their own lives and carry on as before.

Their optimism lasts just 24 hours.


	7. Chapter 7

Frank has never, ever, even tried to lay claim to being particularly empathetic or even good at reading people. Hell, if he could read people better he could have saved himself a whole world of pain in his life, but c'est la vie and all that. Point is, he's never had any great ability to know when other people are distressed.

So when Mikey slips out of the bathroom and slides his phone back into his pocket with a blank face, Frank is somewhat surprised that he just knows Mikey is really, really, fucking upset – and hiding it. Which is not unlike him, in all honesty, and probably has an awful lot to do with Bert lounging on their floor with a bored look on his face. He's been returning for odd hours, mostly when Gerard finally gives in to the need to sleep for a bit. No telling what it's doing to Gerard's body to not actually get the rest it needs, but he is sleeping through the night, and besides, it's not like they can actually do anything about it.

Still, feeling the shivers of fear passing through Gerard's body every time he lays down to sleep isn't exactly fun. Nightmares are one thing, but when someone is actually joyriding your body whilst you sleep, it brings a whole new meaning to being afraid of the dark...

But even factoring in Bert, Mikey seems overly upset. Catching Mikey's eye, Frank nods towards the door and grabs the cigarettes and lighter off the side table and heads out of the room, Mikey following silently behind him.

It takes most of Frank's rationed and savoured cigarette before Mikey finally speaks. “Nonna's been arrested. On suspicion of supplying drugs.”

Frank nearly chokes on a cough, spluttering slightly. “Fuck, she okay?”

Mikey nods, rubbing a hand over his face and pushing his glasses up onto his hairline before they fall back into place with a jolt. “Dad says that, ironically, the fire at the garden destroyed all the wrong side of the law crops anyway and she doesn't keep that sort of thing in the house. So it won't stick, she's too well respected around there anywhere for anyone to take it seriously, but it's all connected, it's gotta be, the whole rumours at school about us, and now this-”

“Do you think it's the WitchFinders?”

“I dunno, they... There's always been stories about what they can do, but it's kinda like Men in Black and all that, how can you know how much power and influence they really have, or if they even exist outside of a few isolated incidences and rumours.”

“Yeah, but like you say,” Frank says, carefully pulling the last precious sparks from his cigarette before it hits the filter, “it's a hell of a coincidence. Maybe they figure this will make us go back or something like that?”

“Maybe,” Mikey sighs, “Mum keeps asking me to come home, for us to... Frank, the way she sounds...”

Frank wraps an arm around Mikey, tugging him tighter against him and sighs too. “You gonna tell Gee?”

“Fuck no, how can I, he already blames himself for what happened at the garden, this would just- No, I can't, I can't even call them back, if I speak to them I'll... We are- We are doing the right thing, aren't we Frank?”

“I'm not the Seer, remember? I just deal with the afterlife, not this one. But, these bastards knew where we live. They knew where Ray's house is. And they're still out there. If they're caught, or this drugs thing blows over, we can go home. Or, we get Gee fixed and we get up to full strength and take these fuckers on, we can sort them out ourselves. But with both problems at once, Gee and them, I just... We will sort this. Somehow. We have to, we're the good guys, right?”

Snorting wetly, Mikey nods. “Yeah, cause that always works out so well.”

**************************

“Well, that's it,” Ray says quietly, sitting down on the end of the bed and letting his cell phone slip through his fingers to rest on the covers. “If I'm not at work at 9am tomorrow I'm fired, they can't hold my job for me any longer.” His gaze is fixed on the floor, unseeing and distant, even as Bob sits down beside him and wraps an arm over his shoulders.

“I'm sorry man, that sucks.”

“Yeah.” Ray accepts the offered comfort, leaning into Bob's side as Mikey shuffles closer and runs his fingertips over Ray's hair, his face tilting up in answer to some unspoken and private reassurance. Gerard doesn't move, just curls up a little tighter on the bed, his face blank and as tight as the grip he has on his own wrist, fingers wrapped tight over the ribbon as though holding it in place.

Frank shrugs and jumps up from the floor, slapping Ray on the shoulder as heartily as he can, with no idea of the right thing to say or do but doing what he always does when he's uncomfortable: get louder and grin.

“Their loss, eh? Who needs their shitty job anyway, you can do much better than that, Ray.”

Ray looks up slowly, a frown forming on his face as he stares at Frank and snorts out a harsh laugh, so out of character that Frank almost takes a step back.

“A shitty job, yeah? Yeah, it was, but don't knock it until you've tried it Shortround, you can slack off a week or three from school and just repeat, but this is the real world and y'know what? Jobs can be fucking hard to find, and yeah, so, to you it's just a shitty job in a shitty bank, but it was MY shitty job, and MY money coming in that's paid for THIS room, and YOUR food, and gas, and cigarettes and-”

“Hey, we all chipped in,” Frank says defensively, but even to him it sounds weak, like a kid trying to avoid getting told off.

“It's still- It's not-” Ray collapses down into himself, looking old and worn out, the bags under his eyes suddenly all too obvious, the weary tension in his body making him seem more like a wizened old timer than a young man. “It _was shitty_. The pay sucked, the work was dull, and everyone was kinda boring but that was the whole point. It was normal. No levitating, no wolves, no spells, just gossip about who was dating who, who binge watched what show over the weekend, and the biggest drama was when someone's kid got sick and we needed to cover them so they could go pick them up from school.”

Picking the already battered notebook off his bedside table, Ray opens it to that week's 'dream log', his half asleep scrawl or Bob's dictation notes covering the pages. “I've drowned, burned, and lost my dog in my sleep this week, and waking hours here aren't exactly restful. I miss my shitty eight hours of normality, okay? I miss... I miss _home_.”

“You should go,” Gerard whispers at last, the first thing he's said in what feels like hours. “This, this is my problem, it's my family they're investigating, my body that's, that's... tainted. You, all of you, you should go back, I can't... You can't get dragged down because of me.”

Ray laughs, but with more humour this time, and shakes his head, running a hand over his hair restlessly. “Fuck you, Way, always gotta be more epic, more doomed than anyone else.” The words seem too harsh, too cutting to be right, but there's a weary smile on Ray's lips as he turns to look at Gerard. “I'm not going anywhere you loser, you think I'm gonna trust this lot to sort you out on their own? You'd all be fucked if it weren't for me.”

“True,” Bob adds sagely, rubbing slow circles over Ray's back. “Sharing a room with you guys is an epic form of cockblock.”

It takes Frank too long to get it, too tense and nervous to even put it together but when he does he can't help the snort that escapes him, loud, and totally uncool, Hell, he even thinks he can see a spot of snot go flying out of his nose, but it's also like a champagne cork popping as he starts to giggle.

Ray quirks a grin at him, before shaking his head in disbelief. “Hey, if anyone here is a cockblock it's Mikey, he is a literal cockblock for those two.”

Closing his eyes and putting on his best long suffering look, Mikey just shakes his head. “You don't know man, you weren't there. I've _seen_ things...”

Ray starts to laugh at last, tired and without gusto, but it slips out all the same, a reluctant acceptance that he can't hold onto his bad mood too long. It will take time, he needs to mourn a part of his life that is no longer his, but he will adapt. They all will. Whatever it takes. He knows that, with every rub of Bob's palm against his spine, with each touch from Mikey's mind, and even Frank's ridiculous giggles, they can do this, together.

None of them even notice as Gerard turns away.

*************************************

“I don't fucking believe it,” Mikey mutters, shaking his head as he pulls his gaze back from the window of the third shitty motel they've checked into that week. They've barely been there twelve hours this time before Mikey has raised the alarm.

“Again?” Grabbing the bags he hasn't even bothered to unpack, Ray growls. “I don't get it, there is no way they should be able to find us this quick, you really sure it's Witchfinders and not just a stag party or some shit?”

Mikey just throws him a look before grabbing his own bag and moving to the bed and shaking Gerard and Frank awake.

“No fucking way,” Frank groans, squirming deeper into the covers. “I just got to fucking sleep. They can fuck off.”

“Yes fucking way. Just down the hall. There's four of them this time I think, we should sneak out again before they get a chance to get any closer.”

“No,” the vaguely Frank shaped heap under the duvet says, “no, fuck them, I can't be bothered, I am so tired man, I can't even get a few hours sleep before they turn up and we have to go again, I don't WANT to.”

“Look, I can take the van on on my own,” Bob says, shrugging. “I'll drive on to another motel, get a room again, and if they follow me you guys will be safe here and we can see if it's the van they're tracking even with the paint job.”

“No,” Ray says quickly, shaking his head. “No, we do not split up, that way... Just no.”

“Something you want to share with the rest of the class Toro?” Bob says, reaching out towards the bathroom with one hand and catching the small toiletry bag that comes flying out like a bad cosplay of Thor's hammer with the other. “You seen anything concrete?”

“Fuck you Bryar, what haven't I seen happening to us, seriously, I can't get a fix on one thing, just loads of random... Garbage, I haven't seen one useful thing in ages, but I know this, I know that we have to stick together, if we don't...”

“Then pack,” Mikey says, pulling his own rucksack up from beside the bed and swinging it onto his back. “And let's go.” Offering his hand, he looks down at Gerard who has stayed silent and resigned throughout their little spat. Nodding slowly, Gerard reaches up and lets himself be helped to his feet, staggering with exhaustion, before smacking a hand at the still covered heap of his boyfriend.

“They're right Frankie, let's go.”

“I hate you all,” the heap says, but it starts to move all the same.

********************************************

“Can't we just do a sanctuary spell on the van? Shield it from whatever voodoo shit they've got?” Frank grumbles from the back of the van. As a concession to the cold, and the toll the constant moving around is starting to take on Frank's already fucked up health, the inflatable mattress is up and wedged in tight to cover all the available floor space, making a somewhat more comfortable ride. Every blanket and sleeping bag they had packed is being used as a giant nest for Frank, Ray, and Mikey, Gerard taking a rare turn up front with Bob. Even so, the air in the back is cold enough to make their breath mist, the evening coming on fast and a definite frost in the air.

At least, that's the excuse for the giant nest. The fact that it also gives them all an excuse to sprawl and not have to watch the never ending re-fucking-lentless rush of asphalt outside the windscreen is just a bonus,

“Okay,” Ray sighs, “for starters, we don't know for sure they're using any sort of magic whatsoever to track us, it may be as mundane as, oh, I don't know, the van's license plates.”

“Which I offered to test by taking her on by myself, seriously,” Bob says.

“Seriously, no.” Ray makes his 'business' face and glares at the back of Bob's seat, even though as neither of them are telepaths it's unlikely to make any difference. “Anyway, you can't do sanctuary protection on a moving object like this, it needs to be anchored to something. Binding spells attach to a person's life force, like Gee's ribbon-” Gerard briefly looks back and waves his bound wrist in the air, like an unenthusiastic kid being called on for show and tell. “It is linked to him, and it only works on him, it's keyed in to his energy, his aura. On the other hand, sanctuary spells root themselves into the Earth and use the Earth's energy, they draw on it to stay stable, even when there's no one there.”

“There's also amulets,” Mikey says, still mostly focused on the small screen of his phone resting on his blanket-covered lap.

“Right, yeah, they work a bit differently too in that they are attached to a life force but it's kinda layered.”

“Like onions, or ogres?” Frank says quickly.

“Like varnish,” Ray retorts, even as Mikey bops Frank on the head. “You start off with simple wood, like, I dunno... Let's say a shield. Then you add a layer of varnish. Then another. Maybe some cool paintwork. More varnish, maybe metal plate, making it thicker and stronger each time, yeah?”

“Huh?”

“Each wizard starts from where the other left off, each adding a layer of their own protection to it, making it stronger.”

Bob sighs. “Frank's lost, you guys. Look, it's like building a house. Start with a small brick hut, add an extension, second story, bigger roof, double glazing, moat, drawbridge, keep adding shit on until one day, boom, motherfucking big fortress.”

“Riiiiiight.” Frank drawls out slowly. “I think I kinda get it, amulets draw power but protect at the same time, so it gets stronger for both the dude wearing it and the necklace of power itself, and can be used by anyone. Binding only covers one particular person, and runs out over time as it needs to use its charge to control the person. And sanctuary lasts ages, 'cause it's linked to the ground, which is a freaking huge battery compared to us.”

“By jove, I think he's got it,” Bob says with a fake English accent and a wide grin.

“And back to what I actually asked, none of them will work on the van?”

“Nope.” Ray shrugs. “So we're gonna have to try and think more like a cloak, see if we can come up with a load of smaller really basic protection spells that together might make it easier to hide.”

“Which means...”

“Gee's gonna doodle all over my van, and it's gonna stink of sage for like a week.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“You say that now, wait until we get out the brimstone,” Mikey mutters ominously.

*********************************************************

“Well, at least we know why the respray isn't keeping them from following us, but I told you it wasn't magic they were using.” The others look up from their unpacking as Bob tosses a piece of paper down onto the bed, scowling at it even as Frank leans forward to pick it up.

“That's me, that's... Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

The sheet is just a print out of an email, not much more than a half a page, but Frank and Gerard's yearbook photos take up most of the room. The rest is a big red 'reward' stamped across the top of the page, a few lines of text below soon revealing themselves to be some BS story about them having run away together and their parents being oh so worried about them, so please do call...

Their surnames have been changed, a nice touch, because of course anyone challenging them will assume they have fake ID's. The reward isn't much, not high enough to raise suspicion, just a few hundred dollars but it's more than enough to tempt a receptionist to make a phone call if “Gerard Johnson” or “Frank Jones” turn up.

“Where was it?” Gerard asks softly, his voice as weary as they all feel by now.

“Behind the counter at reception, guy checking me in kept glancing at it so when his head was turned I swiped it. He didn't seem too suspicious so we should be safe for tonight maybe. I'd be happier if Mikey double checked though,” Bob adds.

“On it,” Mikey says, rising up from his spot on the floor and grabbing his wallet. “Anyone want a soda?”

At the soft round of shaken heads, Mikey nods and heads out, leaving them looking at the sheet.

“Look at the email header,” Ray says at last, “It's a whole load of motels, guest houses, shit they could've sent this to the whole fucking state by now. Suppose we should be grateful you’re not on some ‘Do you know where your children are’ PSA, for that they’d actually have to prove they know you I guess, whereas this just hints nicely at someone’s innocent little boy being led astray by big bad gay boyfriend.”

“Although where they’d get innocent from with that picture is anyone’s guess,” Bob adds.

Frank pulls his feet up onto the bed, leaning against his knees as Gerard gently nudges into him. “Fuck, I am getting really sick of this.”

“We all are Frank,” Bob growls softly, sitting down next to Ray on the twin bed and shaking his head. “We can't keep running from motel to motel like this, for one thing it's fucking expensive when they turn up just as we've settled in and we don't even get the benefit. Be cheaper to get a hooker for an hour and ask to use her bathroom, at least then we'd be getting screwed in the good way.”

“Eww?” Frank says, even as he puts a hand over Gerard's mouth and shakes his head. Not the time for a debate on the whole sex industry, workers rights or any of that shit, not that that usually stops Gerard. “What can we do? What's this thing you want to try on the van?”

“A few things really, cleansing spells, some safe journey charms, the sort of thing people used to do before a long journey to encourage beneficial energies-”

“Really? That shit works?” At the sceptical looks from all three of them, Frank smirks. “Even Witches have some old wives remedies huh?”

“Pretty much,” Ray admits, “it's a bit like a lucky shirt, just because you wore it once when something good happens doesn't mean bad shit will happen if you don't wear it, but the more times you associate it with a good result the more you get convinced it works. Some spells are like that really, there's no real evidence that the spell actually works but it doesn't actually hurt anything so why not keep trying, just in case?”

“Like sigils,” Gerard says with a small smile, reaching down to dig into his bag for his notebook. “There's no way of really saying if they work or not.”

“Those symbol things, right? You told me about those ages ago, funky symbol things that represent names of angels and demons and shit, they come in their own like grim noir book thing?”

“Grimoire,” Ray laughs, “grim noir, Jesus Frankie-”

“Fuck you Toro, I'm still catching up, you dick.”

“And doing a great job of it. Mostly,” Gerard admits, “but in this case, other than a name, you're spot on. There's these old symbols which are passed down to represent different things and that stuff varies depending on your culture, the Voodoo or tantric stuff is way different from the European runic bit they mention in Harry Potter, that’s got more norse roots, but there's elements of it everywhere. Symbology can be a very personal or cultural thing, like hawks and doves being war and peace, or the Eagle for America kind of thing. Symbols do have power, but it's... Personal.”

“And this is a problem why?”

“Because different symbols mean different things to different people. I could start drawing all sorts of runes over the van, but if I don't know what they actually mean, what the story behind them is, it's just a picture and they lose their power. Besides, it's not really clear even whether ALL Witches are equally able to even use all the more basic forms of magic.”

“Huh?”

“He's saying some of us are shit at doing spells,” Bob says, shrugging. “I can make a smudge stick or mix up a cocktail but none of my stuff seems to be even half as good as Gee's, even following the same recipe. My gift doesn't channel energy or anything like that, I don't transform anything, so while I'm still way more powerful than a muggle with that stuff, I wouldn't bother doing it if one of you guys are around, you're just better at it.” With a grin, he leans back on his elbows on the bed. “But, when it comes to dealing with animals, I have Gee beat hands down, they just freak out around him.”

“They do not,” Gerard protests, but pouts even as Mikey comes back in. “Dogs are okay.”

“Dogs are okay for what?”

“Bob says animals don't like Gee.”

“Oh totally true, and he's allergic to cats which is actually pretty hilarious for a Witch, because seriously man, how many crazy cat ladies are there in the Collectives? Plus there was that thing with the blackbird...”

“That blackbird was just crazy, it would've attacked anyone!”

“Yeah, yeah, but Bob's Doctor Dolittle by comparison, which I think was the point he's making,” Ray says quickly, trying to forestall another argument even as Frank continues to snigger and just mouth 'Blackbird?' at Mikey. “So, uh, Magic symbols, Gee, you wanna tell him what you've been up to?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Gerard nods and returns his attention to his notebook. “Right, yeah, well there's traditional Sigils, that are heavy on cultural reference and so on, but like I say, you need to know the history to really get them, it's a whole slightly fuzzy branch of Magic really, some Witches swear by it, others find it a bit nuts, so whether you can get it work or not is really up to you, and no one’s really sure if the symbol has power or the Witch using it GIVES it power by believing in it-”

“Oh for fuck's sake, less theology, Gee-”

“So anyway, I've been playing with it for a while, just for fun really, casting spells to protect the shop, adding symbols to the FedEx parcels for safe passage, I even tried casting a desire spell on a particular issue of Deadpool to see if I could make it sell more than Cap, just little bits really, but they all seem to, y'know, work, or at least not do any harm.”

“You're telling me there's an ancient magic symbol for 'buy me'?” Frank sniggers. “Get out of here.”

“No, see, that's exactly the point, there isn't, all the traditional stuff is tied up in so much other meaning it's really hard to use, like, I could paint a symbol for safe passage on the van without knowing if it was originally specific to horseback or carriages or sailing or anything like that. And if I drew a wall of fire, it looks like a threat, but to us firewall actually means protection, although a century ago it would have been protection against fire itself, and now we think of it as a virus blocker.”

“Generic symbols suck,” Mikey summarises with a long suffering look. “By the way, we're safe here for now. Should manage long enough to catch some zees at least.”

“Hell yeah,” Frank says, and looks back at Gerard. “So, no symbols?”

“No generic or old symbols,” Gerard says, opening his book. “There's a newer school of thought that while old symbols are good starting places and great for traditional magic or spells too, for newer challenges it's better to make your own and whilst it's still a bit new agey in places, there's some good ideas too. They start with a statement of intent or wish, basically what the aim of the spell will be. It can't be a negative thing, and it must be what I need to happen to us, to my environment, not someone else's, so I can't say do one for 'the Witchfinders won't find us' but I can say 'we will evade the Witchfinders'. It's about channelling positive energy to help us be fast and hidden, not wishing for some cosmic accident to take out our enemies.”

“Yeah,” Bob adds quietly, “that way curses and black magic lies and dude, bad idea.”

“Yeah, that too. Plus a sigil should be a definite plan, have a time limit. I mean, I can't expect a spell to let us hide from WitchFinders forever and ever, it's too big. But if I say I want us to evade them until we are safe and home again, that's different, it focuses more. Likewise if I just say I want to 'keep us safe' but don't specify from what how can I focus the energy? Am I protecting us from WitchFinders, the common cold, bad driving, or traffic cops, or one of Mikey's bad hair days? It needs to be specific to work best, which is why I'm never sure if it's the symbol or the spell as I write it, I mean, am I casting anyway and the process of designing it is just what focuses me instead of a chant?”

Gerard shrugs, even as Frank takes the notebook and flicks through it, pages of strange looking designs clearly made up of oddly clustered letters appear. “If it works, who cares?”

“And that leads us right back to Mikey's lucky pulling shirt. Is it actually a lucky shirt, or is it just the only one he owns that doesn't make him look like a stick insect?”

Frank ignores the muffled squeaks and shouts from the next bed as Mikey launches himself across the room at Bob and starts to wrestle with him, Ray falling off the bed with a thump to make room. As the others fight and Ray laughs, Frank traces his fingers over the symbols in the book and lowers his voice just for Gerard to hear.

“So, which of these is for 'I will fuck my boyfriend into the mattress as soon as I manage to evict my stalker ex?'”

Gerard blushes, but, with a guilty glance over at the others, points to one in the book and gives Frank an apologetic grin. “Not quite those words, but the same gist, yeah.”

“Okay, that’s the one we're painting on the van first.”

******************************************

The inside of the van is still cold when they set off after a relatively peaceful twenty four hours in the motel, but the shift change brings a new guy behind the counter, one who is staring at them much more closely, and Mikey reports with a definite pout that they've got to go.

It's a unanimous decision to avoid all motels for a bit and crash in the van, but even so, it's a fraught few days whilst they adjust to life completely on the road. Just finding somewhere safe to park for a night to rest is a challenge sometimes, and each day they wind their way in an ever growing spiral further away from home.

Frank does have to admit, he wishes they hadn't had to actually live in the van right after doing the banishing spell with the brimstone though.

The walls slowly fill with Gerard's sigils, sharpie and paint adorning the metal and providing oddly beautiful distractions in the constantly flickering light coming through the windows of the van. Gerard had added, as he tucked the first few away in the van's corners, that for most muggle usage the sigil would be destroyed but that was because for them in was supposed to work on their subconscious, whilst for him it would be 'a conscious casting and using it as a charm, so of course he was going to keep the symbol, duh.'

Personally, Frank was just relieved to see more of the old Gerard starting to come through, the work, the art of it distracting him and bringing some of the old laughter back into his voice. He hadn't even realised it was missing, but now it was all too obvious by comparison just how quiet he had been, how withdrawn, how... Blank Gerard had been.

They start to breathe though, the WitchFinders seemingly left for dust, and there are smiles all round when Tori reports that she's home and going back to school at last (although with several over-protective older brothers insisting on escorting her every second she isn't at school). Nonna Way is given a clean bill of health from the doctors at last, and friends on the local force have let slip that the drug charges won’t stand up and will be formally dropped soon, blaming it on a prank or someone with a grudge against the family stirring up trouble. 

Frank can almost believe that any day now he will be back home, in a clean warm bed, with his mom's amazing vegan casserole to fill him up, and their attention free to deal with the problem of Bert properly this time. It's going to be okay.

Any day now.


	8. Chapter 8

Mikey sighs as he tugs the long length of ribbon from the corner of the van and measures it out in arms lengths, hooking it over his thumb and elbow as he bundles it up. Ten full loops left, and it takes at least one to bind Gerard each time, more if they need to do both wrists for extra Bertness. At the moment the ribbons seem to be lasting for about a week, but it's definitely getting shorter, the colour fading quicker and needing to be replaced maybe a day sooner each time. There's maybe two months worth of ribbon left at most, probably more like six weeks.

Considering, he looks over at the back of the van where Gerard and Frank are sitting opposite each other, cross legged and with Frank's hands tugging softly on the knot of the ribbon covering Gerard's right arm. The length is a pale, smoky grey, almost white in places as the magic wears off, as evidenced by the way that Bert had been creeping back in more frequently over the last day or two.

Part of Mikey wants to hold off, to give it another day, to save the remaining ribbon for a bit longer, as who knows how long they will need it to last? But the look of Gerard's face is enough to convince him it's time. Each ‘possession session’ as Ray has coined it, takes it out of Gerard, the grey shadows under his eyes starting to look red and bruised and not fading any more with the arnica and comfrey blend that even Frank had begrudgingly used on his knee at last after a few days on the hard van floor. Gerard's too lean, too thin, the hollow of his cheeks starting to show, and it will only get worse the longer they leave it. At least a fresh ribbon gives him a couple of decent nights sleep.

Mikey cuts off a length, carefully folding the rest back into the bag, and scoots closer to them, watching as Frank carefully unwinds the old ribbon into a tight spool, revealing dirty and clean patches of skin underneath. He's muttering as he does so, giving thanks for the protection it gave and locking the chaos it has absorbed into it more firmly. As soon as it slips free, Frank slips the stopper off of a wide necked glass bottle, thick and bobbled and old, obviously handblown, and feeds the ribbon into it, the body of the bottle already half full of faded fabric.

Clicking the stopper closed again, Frank carefully returns the bottle to the middle of one of the boxes, well padded on all sides by clothes and paper. Then he returns his attention to Gerard, grabbing a wet wipe from the ever present pack (they have a myriad of uses, especially when bathroom breaks with proper facilities are sadly not frequent enough, and have been agreed as an 'essential' on the budget.) Soft swipes over Gerard's wrist follow, cleaning the skin as best he can, smudges of dirt and impressions of the ribbon fading slowly with repeated attention.

Once clean, Frank lets go and Gerard slumps, his hands rising to cover his eyes and deep breaths filling his body. There's the faintest blue shimmer over his body as he regains control of his powers, flickering out just as fast, but when his hands lower his eyes look a little better, the red still there but the swelling a little lessened. It's a start.

“You with us, Gee?” Frank asks at last, and Gerard nods slowly, obviously fighting to get enough energy to sit up straight.

“Just about. Not sure how long I can keep it up for, I just... He's so strong.” Frank surges forwards, pulling Gerard into a somewhat awkward hug, their heads side by side.

“I know, babe, I know, but you gotta keep fighting, and we're gonna give you a hand again, you ready?”

“Do I have to?”

“Yeah, 'fraid so.”

Leaning closer, Mikey gently pulls Gerard's left arm towards him, pushing his sleeve up fully and placing the end of the ribbon over his pulse point carefully. Without really looking, Frank reaches out and presses his fingertip over it, holding it in place firmly as Mikey begins to wrap, keeping the ribbon taut until the loops returns over again, snugly, ready to take over.

Chanting quietly, Mikey repeats the mantra from the garden, reinforcing the spell even as he carefully ties off the end, tucking it neatly out of sight, and pulling Gerard's sleeve down again.

As he finishes the words, Gerard sobs just once, a quiet and weary noise of shame, before pulling back from Frank and turning around to face the wall, sprawling out on the floor of the van. Frank doesn't take offence, just curls up behind him, fingers tracing slowly over his shoulder.

“It's okay babe, sleep, we've got you.” Mikey alone can see the way Frank's face crumples before forcing back into calm strength again. “We've got you.”

**********************************************************

“What's up with Bob?” Frank asks around a mouthful of cereal, his spoon scraping against the bowl as though trying to scrape the ancient brown petal pattern off the chipped china. The giant boxes and bags of dry cereal quite rightly take up a whole corner of the van, their staple food now, eaten dry whilst on the go or, as a treat, with milk whenever they stop. The dollar store bowls get a quick wipe, rinse, or wash as needed but so far as long as everything stays in the bowl there's been no mould or science experiments forming, and, other than some... understandable side effects from a change in diet for five young men, it's cheap, portable, and fills a hole. Even if nothing short of full on driving rain will make Ray shut his window now.

The mall car park is empty this time of night so no one will notice the parked van with the now mud splattered blue paint job. Or the three guys leaning against the hood and sharing a cigarette, the butt glowing out into the night and catching their faces every now and then.

Frank though, is sat inside the back door of the van, Ray beside him, swinging his legs out over the doorframe of the van as he digs into his bowl of “Corporal Crisp” knock off cereal. Ray’s bowl is almost entirely milk now, the remaining pieces swimming past his spoon as he twists around to look at the night sky, searching for something. 

For a bizarre moment, Frank thinks that Ray is actually looking for Bob, as though expecting him to float past them. A knowing look passes over Ray's face in the faint light of the flashlight app on Bob's phone, placed against the side of the van. Licking his spoon clean, Ray points it up at the sky, the light reflecting off it oddly. Following his gaze, Frank looks up at the sky, eyes easily finding the moon even through the wispy cloud there, just a small sliver missing from one edge.

“Oh, full moon's tomorrow, that's what's bugging him huh?”

Returning to his cereal, Ray nods, chewing happily again.

“Must be worried, leaving his mom alone with the wolf.”

Ray snorts and shakes his head. “You kidding? I mean, yeah, okay so you did kind of meet them on a bad night, but really, his mom's been dealing with it every month for a couple of decades already.”

“Yeah, but, the attack, that's gotta mess with his head right?”

“Guess so,” Ray says, (or rather, sprays, drops of milk and grain disturbing the still air.) “Didn't bother him much last moon did it?”

Frank shivers slightly, suddenly losing his appetite as he lets that sink in. Two moons. They've been away from home for over a month now, the 'quick week' away turning into the road trip from Hell. He's not even sure which state they're in right now as the mall looks like a carbon copy of the last two. Messages have trickled down to quick status updates, no real news coming through over than that it's all quiet, the police mostly satisfied by now that there is no big drug dealing ring going on in the small town.

Mostly. Frank's pretty sure the cops won't stop completely until they get a chance to ask a few questions of them all, and make sure they didn't skip town for anything illegal.

“Maybe's he's homesick,” Frank says quietly, digging at a chip in the bowl with the end of his flimsy spoon. Ray shrugs again.

“Maybe. Comes and goes I guess. Most of the time I don't even notice it, so used to being around so many people. But I'll catch myself humming a song and thinking I gotta tell the ladies at work about it, and then I'll remember I'm not going to work tomorrow. Or I'll want to tell Tori something, but if I try to word it for a text it just doesn't work out right so I don't bother. Won't be long now though, can't be, Elena's in the clear, we haven't seen a WitchFinder in a week, and I haven't seen anything about us lately, it'll be fine.”

“Yeah, we can go home and just worry about performing a giant supernatural enema on Gee to get his ex out from where he's crawled up his ass.”

“Eloquent, Iero, you're one classy freak, you know that right?”

“Class through and through, baby,” Frank grins, opening up the bag of his 'taste free' flakes as Bob calls them and pouring the remainder of his bowl back in. “Just never said which class. Right, I'm gonna go beg a smoke, no seeing any good stuff without me!”

“Do my best.”

**********************************************

Mikey is tired. Weary. Fucking exhausted, at the end of his rope, he could probably come up with more clichés if his brain wasn't so zombiefied. Later, this is what he will blame his complete lack of awareness and basic common sense. That, and the latest voicemail from his mom tugging at his ear and his heart in equal measure.

It's cold, and wet, and the van stinks of wet dog, and sweat, and food, and he just needs to get out. Slamming the van door closed behind him and ignoring Frank's complaints about the cold, Mikey huddles down into his coat and hurries across the half empty car park towards the relative shelter of the side of some office building. There's not much cover but at at least until the wind changes it is relatively dry.

Curled down inside his jacket, Mikey pulls out his phone and hesitates before swiping to pick up his voicemails, wondering what could have gone wrong this time, or if he has the strength to carry on answering in no more than 160 characters of text at a time.

The messages are playing when she walks round the corner, smart office heels and stockings peeking out below a tailored coat and an umbrella to keep off the rain. And oh, fuck, it's not even that hot a look, just the slightly more fashionable side of practical, but it's been too long since he's even had the chance to jerk off, let alone anything else, and she is gorgeous, even in the rain, the shimmer of it on her dark wool coat and the ends of her brown hair totally unlike the sodden slick of his own. Swallowing hard, Mikey shifts to try and hide the oh so distracting reaction his body has had to her appearance, and huddles deeper into his coat.

She's looking right at him, a smile on her face, and she's coming closer and she's thinking about _him_. She's staring at his face, her eyes tracking the lines of his cheeks and the splatter of rain on his glasses. Holy shit, she's thinking he's cute, cuter than his picture, and may still be a little young, but that's not-

His picture.

She knows him.

She's not just looking at him, she's looking _for_ him.

Backing away quickly, Mikey turns to run but thuds straight into an unyielding wall of muscle and the flash of metal that he somehow knows is a knife. Arms grab his and his phone clatters to the floor even as a sudden and overwhelming deluge of thought, and knowledge, and intent, and memory hits him, crashes over him like a tidal wave, and oh, God, it's too much, too dark, it's dragging him away, out to sea, he has to get away, has to run-

Stabbing hard with every fragment of his mind he still has control over, Mikey pushes back against the wide open mind he's pressed into and feels the hands release him, a sharp sting along his side, but it's too fast, he's in freefall-

And, somehow, running. The woman is right behind him, manicured nails scratching at his wrist as she grabs him, but he twists and something in his arm pops with a sickening thud he can feel through his chest making his stomach churn. It feels as though he's left it behind like a broken action figure, the image of Buzz Lightyear sticking oddly in his brain, but he just runs again, faster, yelling with every piece of thought he has left for someone to _start the fucking van and open the door!_

In answer to his silent prayer, the van door swings open even as the engine turns over. Frank is there, bleary eyed but reaching out for him, waiting to grab him and pull him into safety again, and Mikey grabs on, letting himself be dragged in, but as soon as he hits the floor, his brain and body registering however misguidedly a sense of safety, of sanctuary, something in his mind finally gives in and snaps, and takes him with it.

**********************************

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual _fuck_ is going on? Mikey, you okay, come on, come on-”

“I don't know, Bob, just drive, just get us out of here-”

“Was that a mugger? Did he get mugged? Was that a knife, oh God, is there any blood, can you see any blood-”

“What the Hell is wrong with his arm-”

“Hold him down, Frank, sit on him if you have to, just hold him down before he hurts himself-”

“Gee, get over here, now, he needs you-”

“Gee!”

The van is rocking hard as they take a corner way too fast and Gerard forces himself further back into the wall, into the small huddle of bags and smelly clothes and watches without words as his brother writhes in the narrow space in the centre of the van. The half inflated mattress squeaks with each move Mikey makes and the loud thuds of his flailing limbs impacting on bags, metal, other bodies and, by the sounds of something shattering on the other side of the van, glass, making Ray wince.

“Shit he's bleeding, I just- Is he hurt or is it his head again, are we making this worse by touching him?”

“Fuck, grab the blanket, just contain him-”

“Gee, get your gorgeous ass over here this fucking second or I will never blow you again, Bert, if that's you get the fuck out the way, you dick!”

Mikey's screaming suddenly stops, harsh pants replacing it but with no evidence that Mikey is any more aware than he was before. Bob must have finally found a straight road as the van levels out, and Frank throws a sleeping bag over Mikey and hurls himself down to lie on one edge, pinning himself against Mikey's side even as Ray does the same on the other side, trapping him as gently as possible. It's tight, too tight in the space, all sorts of debris sticking into their sides but ignored in favour of the current crisis. Frank reaches out and physically grabs Gerard's wrist and pulls him out of the corner and into an ungainly pose on all fours by Mikey's head.

“Gee, you in there?”

Forcing himself to nod, Gerard watches as Frank fumbles with the knot on the binding ribbon with one hand. It takes him far too long but eventually the ribbon is loose enough to shake free. Trying to brace himself as best he can, Gerard reaches out but hesitates before letting his hand touch Mikey.

“You sure-”

“Just fucking do it, okay? Help him!”

Gerard can feel his hand shaking as he reaches out, dirty fingers far too dark against the too pale skin of Mikey's face, eyes open and unseeing as sweat or rain trickles down his skin. Mikey’s skin feels cold, far too cold to the touch, but at the same time all Gerard can feel through their connection is fire, Mikey's mind is burning, too bright, too much, it could engulf him too-

Closing his eyes, Gerard concentrates on the safe numbness at the centre of his shields, weak, confused, barely enough, he can't hold it for long, can already feel it sparking out, but maybe it's enough, just to let Mikey stop on his own, enough to starve the fire in his mind of oxygen for a few seconds, just enough-

With a soft sigh Mikey finally falls still, panting fading into just laboured breathing, his face still pale but his eyes slowly close in something closer to sleep than the waking nightmare he'd been in.

*******************************************

Mikey can't breathe, he can't think, can't see, is blind and deaf and numb with the pain in his head, lights stabbing through the very inside of his eyeballs and getting worse with every heartbeat, every blink.

The pain in his arm is almost nothing by comparison, just a dull ache and missingness, all neatly chopped off at the shoulder. If only he could figure out how to do that to his head.

He can feel a vibration in his throat and chest but when he concentrates on it it stops, along with the faint high pitched noise that has been filtering through the chaos in his head. Huh. He's been screaming then.

With the noise stopped he can almost make out his name being called, almost feel the burning brands of hands on his body as he feels himself shake under their grip, not aware of anything other than the need to be _away_.

Then, finally, a single cold hand presses itself over his eyes, familiar and dark and empty and promising peace, a single oasis of shade in a burning desert of thought, and he focuses on it gratefully as everything turns to black.

*********************************

“He's dislocated his shoulder,” Gerard says slowly, the words dragged out of the depths of his body like surfacing from deep sleep. “I can't- I don't know how to put it back- His hand- His side-” Slumping back into the corner of the van, Gerard covers his face with his hands, wrecked. “I can't- I can't find it-”

“It's okay, you did good, Gee, you did good, he's gonna be okay, right?” Frank looks up from Mikey's side, twisting the sleeping bag back out from under them and kicking it to the door of the van even as he struggles to his knees to check Mikey out. “Hand- Okay, I see, just a cut, did he- Is there glass in here?”

“We need to pull over and take a look at him properly,” Bob says quickly, shaking his head. “I don't think anyone's following or shit like that-”

“We need somewhere safe though, just in case- Is there a cemetery or anything near here?”

“A cemetery? Fuck, Frank, what the Hell-”

“I can't explain it, just, if you see one, or a church or something-”

“Okay, okay, sacred ground, got it, freak...”

“Ray, you any idea how to deal with his arm?”

“No, I think we're gonna need a proper doctor for this one, maybe a hospital-”

“NO!” Gerard is louder than he has been in days, shaking his head so quickly his hair is flying. “You can't- All that pain, when he can't focus he'll hear it all...”

“He's got a point,” Ray admits, “but I don't know how else we can get this dealt with, maybe a small family doctor or...”

“Or what?”

Ray shrugs. “We can google it, try to fix it ourselves, and pray that if we fuck up we can fix it again later.”

“I can try,” Bob says hesitantly from the front, “the change is Hell on dad's joints and I helped mom put his shoulder back in once.”

“Once. You helped someone else do it _once_.” Frank sits back and bangs his head against the side of the van. “Doctor Bob, or we risk trying a proper clinic, if we can even afford the fees. Talk about rock and a hard place.”

“Whatever we do, he needs to recover, he needs rest, and let's be fucking honest about this, we all do. None of us can cast to shit in a moving vehicle, we're exhausted, and I just think... Maybe we should go home.”

“No, not yet, we can't-”

“You don't know that for sure Frank,” Bob says quietly. “There hasn’t been any more activity, Tori's fine and back at school, the cops are backing off on the whole drug thing, maybe-”

“We don't even know what just happened to Mikey, can we at least wait until he fucking wakes up-”

“Frankie, we need help, okay? We don't know what the fuck we're doing, Mikey's hurt, Gee's a fucking wreck, we can't risk a motel, but we need somewhere we can blend in with a decent bathroom, some power, a hot fucking meal, and, oh God if it isn't too much to ask, a bed so at least some of us can get some sleep. We know we can get that at home, we're a flight away from most of my distant family, Bob's disowned them due to the whole wolf thing-”

“Thanks for bringing that up, Ray-”

“And any Ways will just tell his folks where we are, and the last thing we need is Nonna descending on us again right now. So, either we face the music and risk going home, or you gotta come up with a better suggestion?”

“I might know somewhere we can go!” Frank announces with a grin, “it's great, and totally gonna work because we will blend right in. Well, mostly. I mean, more than we will anywhere else.”

“Frank, you'd better explain yourself fast because right now I'm thinking of turning this van around just for the hope of a decent meal.”

“You'll love me again soon enough when you see where we're going, trust me.”

***************************************

Pete Wentz frowns as he opens the door at 4am to find five guys standing outside, all of them pretty filthy, two of them underage and very familiar, three older and complete strangers. That one of them appears to have his hands tied behind his back and another is sporting a makeshift sling is somehow the least odd thing about the group.

“Gabe, did you order a weird ass set of strippers?”

“Is it Friday yet?”

“No, Thursday.”

“Then no, why?”

“In that case,” Pete says with a sigh, putting a hand on the frankly disgusting shoulder of his unexpected friend, “we've got guests. And by the looks of things, a whole heap of trouble.”

“Pete,” Frank says with a tired grin, “you are not going to believe just how much trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a shorter bit but hey, at least I have left them in good, if not entirely _safe_ hands ;)


End file.
